Author's Notes
by Geale
Summary: Being Aragorn is not very easy, not when you have heavy writing duties, a Quest to Mount Doom to undertake, and one jealous lover with an unhealthy love of words. Rated M for SLASH, occasional dying, poetry, and general madness.
1. Rivendell, Eriador, Me

**The Story: **should never have been written. However, now that the damage is done, it might be useful for the reader to know that it is set after Aragorn returns to Rivendell, after the Council of Elrond but before the Fellowship sets out. One might therefore assume that it is pretty book compliant. One would be wrong.

**Warnings: **The story contains Aragorn/Legolas SLASH. And poetry. Enough said.

**Disclaimer: **We take no responsibility for this. Somebody else can have it.

**Note from the publisher: **Please do _not_ complain to Imladris Library. We are only the most humble servants in the service of History.

**Author's Notes**

**Chapter 1 – Rivendell, Eriador, Middle-earth**

Autumn had waned and turned into winter when Aragorn returned to Rivendell. He had set out with Elladan and Elrohir, but after a while their roads had parted and he had joined the Rangers, travelling along the Greyflood. He was one of all the scouts Lord Elrond had sent out around two months before, only days after the Great Council had taken place. Elrond and Gandalf would have preferred it if the Ring had been sent away immediately but they needed information on many things, and not only the Ringwraiths of which none had had a word since Glorfindel summoned the flood in the ford.

Although no companions for Frodo and Sam had yet been chosen, Aragorn knew that when the time came he would offer the Ring-bearer his services. To the members of the Council he had been revealed as the heir to the Winged Crown and it was his duty to set out on this quest. He just hoped his foster father would choose wisely between those who had arrived for the Council. Particularly one of them, Aragorn would very much appreciate if he was willing to join them. If he would – for once – forget about getting his clothes dirty and his hair tangled…

As much as Aragorn liked living as a Ranger, even in these dark times, he was truly glad to be back. However, much to his dismay, after he had indulged in a quick washing up, Elrond had sent him to the library to write a record of his travels. Apparently, Gandalf's account of the library in Minas Tirith had inspired Elrond to extend his own.

Now evening was far gone and the candles were burning low. Aragorn was experiencing the first poundings of a straining headache behind his eyes. He had written down almost everything he remembered from the past eight weeks but reading through it, he knew he was far from done.

Elves were really picky when it came to words.

With a frustrated sigh, Aragorn fell forward and brutally dumped his forehead against the papers overflowing the desk.

"You will get ink on your skin."

"Legolas?"

Aragorn turned his head to the side and glanced up at the Elf standing in the doorway with a disapproving look.

"And now you will get ink on your cheeks." He shook his fair head. "Humans."

Aragorn snorted and lifted his head from where it lay. Paper stuck to his chin and he irritably brushed it off before he leaned back in his chair.

"What do you want?" he muttered.

Legolas merely raised an eyebrow and walked into the room, looking around. His elegant movements caught the warm light of the candles which danced around him gracefully. Simply dressed in a dark green tunic, brown leggings and soft brown boots, and only adorned with a leather belt around his waist, Legolas still managed to look stunning.

Aragorn watched him turn left and advance towards a bookshelf, one of an innumerable number. He sighed. He had only come back this afternoon and already things were going less than well.

_Fine_.

"Alright," he said, "I am sorry. How are you?"

The Elf spun around and instantly his sour look was replaced by a bright smile.

"I thought you would never ask!"

Seeming to forget all about the bookshelf he had chosen to study, Legolas crossed the room and dropped down in one of the cushioned chairs in front of Aragorn's desk. He stretched out his legs and exhaled deeply.

"You know it has been terribly lonely here without you?" he said.

"Oh really?"

"It has," Legolas nodded. "The Halflings spend most of the time with each other, Gimli is a Dwarf, and Boromir…" He wrinkled his nose, "Boromir is so very dull and proud."

"And you Legolas, are not proud?"

The Elf rolled his eyes. "Not in that 'I-am-a-son-of-Gondor-and-therefore-extremely-important' kind of way. Tsk, tsk…" He shook his head disbelievingly.

Aragorn eyed him, humoured despite his will.

"And the trees? There are plenty of trees in Rivendell to sit among."

"Trees make no lovers, Aragorn," Legolas seriously informed him.

"True, I suppose." Aragorn could no longer fight his smile. He had missed the Elf far too much to waste time being annoyed.

"True indeed," Legolas confirmed. "Consequently, I am here to encourage you to finish up this silly business and join me in our bedroom."

Reminded of the reason for why he was in the library in the first place, the Man grunted and shoved the papers around his desk. "This will take years," he said.

"We do not have years, _meleth nín_," protested Legolas. "You have already taken _hours_."

"I know we do not have years, I have longed for you since the day I left you here after the Council."

"Aragorn!" Legolas cried out causing the Man to almost fall out of his chair by surprise. "Is our love making all you can think of?"

"What? But you said..?"

Aragorn regarded him confused. Legolas had straightened in his chair and his eyes shone.

"Sauron?" the Elf said. "Does that name seem familiar? You know the Evil Master of Darkness… something…" He waved his hand in a vague gesture. "You know, the one with the Ring-issue?"

"Of course I know who Sauron is!" Aragorn cried. "Goodness, what are you talking about?"

"Matters of importance."

"I am quite aware of the peril of Middle-earth, Legolas."

The Elf eyed him suspiciously, then all of a sudden all exasperation flew from his features and he leaned back again.

"Good."

"Good?"

This was crazy. Maybe Sauron had already let his shadow fall over Rivendell? Aragorn had to admit to himself though, that this type of insanity seemed a very unlikely method for the Dark Lord to use. Or perhaps Legolas had been hit by one of Gandalf's lightning bolts, something that seemed far more likely, come to think of it.

Before him, Legolas continued their conversation:

"Yes, since I suppose you are going on the quest. I would not want the company of someone who has no idea of what was happening around him."

"What?"

This time Aragorn nearly flew out of his chair, but Legolas only fixed him with a steady gaze, shaking his head.

"Really Aragorn, if that is the only word you will use, it is no wonder you are having trouble writing your report."

The Man did not know whether to scream or cry. Not being able to choose, he at least settled for remaining seated.

"What is this?" he asked finally.

"Oh," Legolas smiled, "I am simply keeping you on your toes." He put on an innocent look. "So… You missed me that much?"

Aragorn tossed his pen at the Elf who gave a sparkling laugh.

"You will definitely get no writing done if you throw your pens around the room."

"I am so weary of this!" Aragorn exclaimed, banging his fist against the table which shook and made the ink bottle jump ominously.

"Come now, what is it you have left?"

Aragorn looked down and sighed. "I have recorded almost everything so there are only a few details left. Travelling reports are required to carry some personal information from their author as well as information on discoveries and trackings," he explained. "The writer must, in the beginning of the report, leave some kind of comment on what it contains."

"It does not sound too complicated," Legolas said dismissively.

"Normally it is not," Aragorn said, "but Elves are not fond of human expressions."

"No," observed Legolas. "They are usually very blunt, boring and completely without poetic beauty."

"Very helpful," Aragorn muttered.

"Always."

They sat in silence for a while; the only sound heard was Aragorn's second pen rasping against the parchment as he tried to construct sentences which would be acceptable to his foster father and other potential readers of importance.

"Hmm…" Legolas stirred before him. "You could write that your journey was indeed very trying but you had enough strength to wash after you returned?"

"I ought to write that I washed afterwards?"

Legolas shot him an appreciating glance. "Nay, maybe not, I only wished to let you know that I noticed."

"Right…" Aragorn answered him and refocused his attention to his writing. At the moment at least, he needed to be more concentrated on his work than Legolas' ramblings. He had almost come up with a good wording and was trying it out.

As Aragorn read and re-read his may be-introduction, Legolas' voice came floating from far away.

"Or… you could mention how the first rays of the autumn sunrise made you think of your lover's hair?"

"Mhm…"

_Did 'time' really rhyme with 'fine' or was it just wishful thinking?_

"Maybe you should point out that you wearing leather breeches makes a certain Elf very excited about the view?"

_Was it actually relevant to mention the stars in your Author's Note?_

"How about 'Beneath the golden leaves I rest, and dream intently of his chest'?"

_Surely, not even Elves could demand that stars be mentioned in every verse?_

Then suddenly, his hearing caught up with him.

"Legolas?"

"Yes?"

The Elf was smiling sweetly at him. "Did you like my rhyme?"

"Rhyme?" Aragorn ran a hand through his hair. "What rhyme?"

Rolling his eyes, Legolas sank back into the chair, muttering something about humans and their lack of attention.

"Right, listen… Did you say you might go on the quest?"

Aragorn watched him as he nodded slowly.

"I figured you are going?" Legolas said. "I think it is best if I come along and keep an eye on you."

"Oh, and why is that?"

"Well," the Elf began as if preparing for a long speech. "First we have Boromir and I already told you I do not like him."

"You do not trust him? We do not know he is coming."

"Hah!" exclaimed Legolas. "Of course he is joining the party. He thinks he is too important to be left behind. As for trusting, every time he looked at the treasure his eyes lit up like beacons." The Elf grimaced, most unhappy.

Aragorn pondered this. Yes, he had noticed Boromir's attention to the Ring, but still he was determined to trust him. That was, until the man in question did something to prove Aragorn wrong. But then, Legolas had spent almost two months in the same house as the Gondorian.

"He is after the Ring?" Aragorn voiced his question.

Confusion drew over Legolas' face. "The Ring?"

"Yes? You said-"

"Oh the Ring!" Legolas visibly brightened. "Nah, I meant the other jewel around." A sly grin followed. "Stuck-up Steward's sons have no business eyeing my _Dúnadan_ like he was the only apple in the orchard."

"Oh."

Aragorn could feel colour rising in his cheeks. He hated that. If he had not washed, the mud might have covered it effectively.

"On a more serious note," Legolas went on, "when you are in the same room as Boromir, you must _not_ – under any circumstances – wear those leather breeches."

"Shut up," Aragorn said, feeling too embarrassed to be polite.

Legolas was rolling his eyes again. Probably. He did not look.

"And if you do, you had better be kissing me madly."

"I… Just shut up."

"Gladly," said Legolas, "if it means you get your writing done."

Groaning, Aragorn went back to his stack of papers. It did not take long though, before a thought crossed his mind.

"Do you know," he said, a small smile growing on his lips, "what Frodo told me after I met him at The Prancing Pony?"

"No." Legolas shook his head. "But I can imagine what he might have said if I had been there with you and we were doing some of that kissing we were talking about. Alas, I was not with you to shake the Hobbits up a bit, so what did he say?"

"Well… Naturally he could not be sure that I truly was a friend of Gandalf and not one of Sauron's spies. (At this, Legolas snorted.) When he finally decided I was on his side he explained it by pointing out that one of the Enemy would 'seem fairer but feel fouler'!"

Now grinning broadly, Aragorn watched how Legolas leaped out of his chair with an aggravated cry.

"That was the worst–!"

The Elf spun around almost as if he expected Frodo to be standing in the doorway. When no Hobbit chose to appear, Legolas turned back to Aragorn, clearly fuming.

"He had better come up with a good explanation when I confront him," he stated hotly. "I will let him know that no one – no matter how many Rings of Doom he carries – insults my lover!"

Aragorn found he could only laugh at his anger.

"Easy, Legolas," he said, waving his hand. "Calm down. He only meant well. They were scared and tired, all of the Haflings. Black Riders were all about, if you remember."

Slowing his breath, Legolas' eyes narrowed. "As a rule, remember this, Aragorn: the next time someone is about to comment on your appearance, first you threaten them with my talent for vengeance."

"You have a talent for vengeance?"

Legolas frowned. "I could develop one."

He began pacing the room and Aragorn watched him bemused.

"Black Riders," the Elf muttered. "You know, I could dress up as one and jump on Frodo in the gardens at night?"

"My father would kill you. And so would Gandalf."

Legolas grunted in a very non-elvish way. "I forgot about Gandalf."

"I thought you might."

After a few more strides, Legolas ended his pacing in front of Aragorn's desk.

"So no vengeance," he concluded.

"No vengeance."

The candlelight flickered and caught Legolas' eyes. Their normal blue shade mingled with the glow and played tricks on Aragorn's mind. The problem with composing the Author's Notes slipped unnoticed to the back of his head and stayed put in a very dark and hospitable corner.

Legolas leaned in, gradually closing more and more of the distance between them. Aragorn's breath caught in his chest and a soft dizziness swept over him.

"You do realise," Legolas spoke in a low tone, "that insulting your looks, is insulting my taste. And I will have everyone know I have excellent taste."

"The Hobbits have no idea about us," Aragorn managed.

"Not yet, no. But sooner or later they are bound to find out."

"We cannot simply–"

"_You _are talking too much," Legolas cut him off and resolutely placed his lips against Aragorn's.

_And that is coming from you?_

Legolas' kiss was slow and intoxicating. With the warm and moist tip of his tongue he traced Aragorn's lips, brushing the Man's lower lip with his own. The gentle tongue leisurely caressed the skin it touched and after while, it slipped between Aragorn's lips.

Aragorn welcomed the contact, giving in more and more to the sensation. Memories of the past two months dissipated and ideas on how to spend the night arose. He opened up more, countering with his own tongue and eliciting a small moan from Legolas. This seemed to work as a cue for them both and the kiss became more demanding.

With more force, Aragorn pressed against his elven lover, caught his lower lip and sucked on it hard. Hands were stroking his stubbly cheeks, tangling in his hair and bringing him as close as they could while he was still seated. He felt Legolas sucking on his tongue and warmth exploded within. Now, if he could get a little closer…

A _clank _and a seeping sound startled them both and with overwhelming disappointment and great irritation, Man and Elf drew away from each other and watched as the ink bottle emptied the last of its dark liquid on Aragorn's paperwork.

"Damn this bloody business," muttered Aragorn frustrated.

"That is what you have to say after our first kiss since you left?"

"You know what I mean."

"It is no huge loss," Legolas said, eyeing the mess on the table. "I see you were trying to rhyme 'time' with 'fine' and that is like trying to rhyme 'giant spider' with 'Isengard'."

"It is not!" Aragorn protested.

"Yes it is. And you are wondering why Elves do not appreciate the written work of Men…"

"'Time' and 'fine' are more alike than 'giant spider' and 'Isengard'."

Legolas sighed. "'Time rhymes with 'lime', 'crime', 'climb' and 'prime' for example. 'Fine' rhymes with 'wine', 'line' and 'spine'."

"Why would I want to use 'spine'?" Aragorn said.

"I do not know! How am I supposed to know what you did on your travels?"

"Apparently, since you are reading my report right now, you might have an idea," the Man grumbled.

"No," said Legolas. "I cannot: it is soaked in ink," he finished pointedly as if Aragorn had lost all logic he ever possessed.

In that moment, the flames of a couple of candles that Aragorn had lit when he first came in, flickered and died. The Man gave a heavy sigh and tiredly rubbed his forehead with his palm.

"There is no way I can finish this tonight," he said, feeling completely exhausted.

Legolas stood in silence, gazing at the black pool between them.

"I tell you what," he said finally, "you clean this up and I will write that introduction for you."

Aragorn raised his eyes and looked at him curiously. "How could you do that," he asked. "As you so rightly commented, you have not read through what I have written."

"Ah," Legolas said, "I know you well by now, Aragorn, and I have read enough reports to be acquainted with the language – the _elven _preferences anyway. _And _what is more, I am desperate to get you into bed."

A triumphant smile crossed the Elf's features but Aragorn was not satisfied.

"So you leave me to clean up?" he concluded.

"It was you who tipped over the bottle by trying to stand up."

"You tugged me."

"I am trying to help here. Also…" Legolas mused, fixing Aragorn with an intense look, "if you should happen to get ink all over yourself, I will have the perfect reason to draw a nice warm bath for you. A bath you would obviously have to take naked… and then I just might like to join you…"

"I see… "

"Mhm…" The Elf continued. "And then of course, I can never really trust you to wash properly by yourself, so I will have to check that every part of your body is as clean as I like it to be."

"As _you _like it?" Aragorn smiled, raising his eyebrows. "What about how _I_ like to be?"

"Oh, Aragorn…" Legolas left his place in front of the desk, circled it and stepped up close to the Man. "I know exactly how you like it."

Without further notice, he swiftly dove forward and placed a kiss behind one of Aragorn's ears.

"As I suspected: mud," his muffled voice came from among the dark locks.

Aragorn pulled him closer and let his left hand trail down the elven back, towards the slim waist where he yanked gently on the belt he found there. Legolas responded by continuing to caress Aragorn's throat, kissing and tracing circles with his tongue.

When Aragorn was ready he abruptly pulled away from his lover and before Legolas even had time to look disappointed, Aragorn raised his right hand and with his index finger, drew a long dark line of ink on the fair skin of Legolas' cheek.

The Elf jumped high.

"Aragorn!" he cried out, violently rubbing his skin, smearing the ink all over his face.

The Man erupted with laughter, much to Legolas' extreme annoyance.

"This is pure evil!" Legolas continued. "You just wait…"

Still laughing, Aragorn watched him, unsuccessfully trying to get rid of the dark splotches.

"The infamous vengeance?" Aragorn panted between breaths.

"Oh, there will be vengeance!" Legolas warned him. "Be careful where you tread, Aragorn son of Arathorn!"

When Aragorn had finally collected himself enough to breathe properly, he cast an indifferent look at the mess they had made.

"I will get someone else to clean this up," he said. "My father can wait for my written accounts another day. Besides, if you are not too angry with me, I would like that bath."

Legolas regarded him warily. "You will not try to dye my hair as well?"

Aragorn shook his head, "I like you blond. It is a beautiful colour, as you are very well aware."

"Good," the Elf said once more. "You know Boromir's hair is much darker?"

"I do not care for Boromir."

"Even better. Then all I have to make sure of is that Boromir does not have inappropriate thoughts about you."

"And," Aragorn placed a kiss on his lips, "how will you do that?"

"We will see," answered Legolas before he kissed back. "We will see. It might just include you and a pair of leather breeches."

**TBC**

_meleth nín – _my love


	2. Mines of Moria

**Author's Notes' was really meant to be a one-shot but your reviews made me so happy and I had some difficulty leaving the story alone, so here I am with a second chapter. We're still staying fairly close to the book. I was in a weird mood when I wrote this, so I hope you don't find the characters too damaged. Rest assured I love them to an almost unhealthy extent ;) Enjoy, by all means!**

**Chapter 2 – Mines of Moria**

He had been against it – from the very beginning. And yet, here they were. Happy days.

After several scares, including a large group of Wargs and one tentacle equipped Water Watcher, and after finally managing to get through the picky Door of Durin, they had set foot in the Mines of Moria.

Yes, here they were. The deathly ice-cold magic of Caradhras had proven the stronger, and since all other roads were closed to them, too risky, or of the kind that would set them back by months, this was their only option.

Aragorn said little and he put on a grim face as they continued on and he took up the rear; the darkness that surrounded the Company asked for neither greeting, nor smiling faces anyway. His bad mood augmented with every step. This was a place of death and decay, this was former splendour and craftsmanship turned into withering stone – this was a City of lost days. Dwarf Lord Durin's time had long passed and the curses of Moria were no tale for anyone to hear, nor tell. Boromir had put it very well indeed when he firmly stated that 'the name of Moria is black'. Most likely, he had not only meant the lack of light on the inside.

The one good thing seemed to be that Legolas and Boromir were finally agreeing on something: neither of them sought to tread this path. It did not mean they had struck a friendship, far from it. Legolas' arrow had killed the first Warg a couple of nights ago, and so given the Fellowship some respite. Boromir had killed numerous with his sword after that, but the fact remained: the first of the gruesome beasts had been taken down by the Elf. He liked to point that out.

But as Gandalf strode on, holding high his dimly lightened staff, and with Gimli by his side, they spoke of nothing. Even the smallest sound seemed to create an echo that hovered about them for long moments, until it finally died back into the shadows. And no one knew what else hid in those shadows.

Soon, it was only the Wizard who knew whether it was night or day in the outside world. The Company had walked for several hours, slept for a while and then marched on until the Hobbits said they were too weary to take another step. Pressing on a little longer, they finally reached a cavernous hall in which Gandalf risked some more light. In one blazing moment they spotted mighty pillars rising among them, and it was plain to see that this was – or had been – a kingly abode.

Dimming the light, Gandalf nodded to himself, clearly content with the progress they had made.

"Let us rest," he suggested, turning around as he spoke. "Over there seems a good enough place to sleep. A place as fit as any, I daresay."

With a decisive stride he made his way towards a corner which, to Aragorn, looked identical to every other corner he had seen so far in the hall (which did not say much as the lighting really was terribly poor, but he supposed it was so). Gimli and the Hobbits followed him promptly and began setting up 'camp' while the two Men and the Elf hung back as if a spell had been laid upon them.

"I do not like the look of this place," proclaimed Boromir in a low voice.

"You should be happy then, for the darkness," Legolas said.

"I could never approve of this gloom," Boromir told him.

"Then you should have said so. You cannot dislike the look of a place _and _the darkness that enfolds it at the same time."

"Of course I can," Boromir retorted. "I dislike the Mines even more now that I have seen them – and I dislike the darkness that dwells here. It is as if it guards something."

Legolas muttered something that Aragorn recognized as the usual tirade about human logic and speaking-before-you-think.

"Well," he said, in an attempt to change the subject.

From the silence that followed he concluded it had not really helped.

"We should return to the others," he tried.

"We should," agreed Boromir.

A huff, followed by a stream of undistinguishable words erupted from Legolas.

"What?" Aragorn asked him.

"Nothing," muttered the Elf. After a pause he added, "only that we cannot technically 'return to the others' because they have gone somewhere we have not been before. You cannot return to a place you have not yet visited."

Boromir laughed (or snorted – Aragorn decided the darkness dimmed his hearing).

"Elves and their love of words!"

He took Aragorn by the arm and steered him towards the corner where Gandalf and the others were huddled together.

"If any orc sneaks up on us, I trust you will stand by my side and fight, Aragorn?" His tone was light and there might even have been a smile on his lips. Said darkness made it slightly difficult to tell.

What Aragorn did hear though, was the thumping sound of an elven foot kicking at one of the carven stone pillars behind them.

"We shall all fight together," he offered, silently complimenting himself on his talent for diplomacy.

– xxx –

Aragorn had dragged forth parchment and a quill from his pack. By the light of Gandalf's staff he was now contemplating the task before him.

Unfortunately, Elrond had so much appreciated his foster son's first travel report that he had asked of him to keep a record of the adventures of the Quest as well. Aragorn had tried to make him see sense: there would be times when he was too tired to write, times when fighting for his life would be his first and foremost priority, or times like this: when his lover chose to be angry with him.

Alright, so he had not mentioned that last part. He highly suspected Elrond would not consider that a legitimate reason for not writing. Where he was sitting now, on his bedroll in the Mines, Aragorn could imagine his father's words:

"Aragorn," he would say, "if the scribes in Minas Tirith had ceased their writing every time their lovers were in a bad mood, the library would never have been."

But the Gondorian scribes had not had Legolas for their lover. (At least Aragorn hoped it was so. After all, come to think of it, Legolas was far older than he.)

And by the way, _if _they had had lovers like Legolas, and the library never had been created, Aragorn would never have been asked to write these tedious reports to begin with.

So. The issue made no sense regardless from which angle you approached it, which truly was rather disconcerting.

"Aragorn!" Gimli's voice interrupted his thoughts. "A dour look you are presenting us with, laddie!"

No matter how dull this place got, the Dwarf apparently found it appropriate to sound as if he had never experienced anything so wonderful before.

"I seem to have lost all inspiration," Aragorn shook his head.

"There will be many records of this journey," Frodo said slowly. "If we return to tell the tale, Bilbo will want to write it down too."

"That will be a very different sort of tale than Aragorn's I think," Gandalf chuckled. "Ah, dear Bilbo! A Hobbit of extraordinary sturdiness he is! And wit."

"Dear Bilbo…" Frodo echoed him quietly.

"What have you written so far, Strider?" Pippin asked him curiously, leaning forwards into the light.

Aragorn held up the blank parchment for him too see. "Not one single word."

"Tss," Pippin said, "that is no good. We have a saying for those kinds of things in the Shire: 'where one pig goes, the other follows after'." He frowned. "At least I think that is it…"

"Not so!" exclaimed Merry. "It should be: 'as one pig treads, the rest trod'!"

At once, all four of the Hobbits got into an argument about how the saying truly went. Gandalf, who had spent many a day in the Shire and its surroundings, joined in along with Gimli who had some information on Dwarfs and pigs, to clarify things further he said. Boromir was soon pulled into the debate by Merry and Pippin – each of them supporting their own case – who had taken a liking to the Man.

Aragorn remained silent. Presumably, his father expected something else than a discourse on the trod of pigs in the Shire. But then, no one really knew what Elrond preferred. He had that mysterious air about him.

Legolas had not said another word to Aragorn since he commented on what he considered was the improper use of 'return'. He was sitting on his bedroll and going through his stash of arrows. All but one had been found undamaged in the morning after the Warg attack as far as Aragorn understood.

There was no point in trying to communicate with the Elf. If Legolas did not want to speak to him, he would not. Of course, he could always admire the blond hair, the blue eyes and the nimble fingers – had it not been for the poor lighting. Again. (It _was_ getting tiresome.)

All in all, everything was pretty hopeless, Aragorn decided.

The argument about the hobbit proverb was settled in the end by Merry who pointed out that pigs very seldom walked in a straight line since they were more interested in eating than socializing. Much like a hungry hobbit really, and that also being the reason for why the saying had arisen in the Shire in the first place. How that related to his writing, Aragorn refrained from asking.

At last, Gandalf urged them to get some sleep. "The night is dark," he said in a dramatic voice (disbelievingly, but discreetly, Aragorn shook his head), "we had better catch sleep while it is prone to be caught." With a nod to Pippin he added, "A Wizard's proverb."

"I will take first watch," he continued. "Roll out your rolls – so to speak – and dream of stars and moonlight."

Gradually the muffled noises died down around Aragorn as everyone settled in for the night. He had withdrawn a little from the others, lying down closer to the wall. The air was neither hot, nor cold but carried an uneasiness that made it difficult for him to relax. It took longer than normal before Gimli's snores were heard.

After a little while, there were shuffles beside him and suddenly a hushed voice whispered in his ear:

_In the Mines of Moria,_

_in a pillared hall,_

_late one eve,_

_at the turning of the year,_

_there I linger._

_To sleep I fall,_

_for though I perceive,_

_that my lover dear_

_is truly lonely, I lift no finger,_

_to please and pleasure_

_him, beyond every measure._

Unceremoniously, he was shoved a little to the side and Legolas slid down to lie beside him.

"I have brought my own blanket," he announced proudly in another whisper.

"Good for you," muttered Aragorn.

He pushed at the Elf, trying to reclaim some of the bedroll. Legolas refused to move and instead kicked Aragorn loosely on an innocent shinbone.

"Legolas!" he hissed, rubbing his leg.

"I am staying."

"Yes, I have noticed," Aragorn grumbled rather harshly.

He gave one elven shoulder another push and received an elbow in his ribs. He was about to punch Legolas in the stomach when someone cleared their throat sharply.

"Gandalf!" Legolas froze.

"He will not kill you."

Aragorn sank back against the floor. After a few seconds, Legolas did the same. He even moved over somewhat and offered the Man some of his own bedroll. They lay on their backs silently, until Gimil's snoring once more came in soothing, rocking waves. It was weird, Aragorn reflected, how a noise like that could create stillness. He supposed it was because the place and the sound made such an unlikely combination that one simply had to feel at ease.

"I forgive you."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at the statement. "I am sorry?"

"Yes, I know you are, but I already told you I forgive you."

"Wha- no, that is not what I meant!"

"Very well, I forgive you for taking no notice of me. You do know you have barely said a word to me during the past days?

"I have spoken to you," Aragorn protested, keeping his voice down as much as possible.

"You have spoken to me, but you have not _spoken _to me," Legolas complained. "And you certainly have not kissed me," he added fleetingly as if he did not really care.

Aragorn stared at him incredulously, which would have been more effective if he, at the very least, had seen the Elf beside him.

"I am sorry, Legolas, if I between snow storms, Wargs and water monsters have not found the time to kiss you passionately."

"And I forgive you, Aragorn."

After a minute, "I am glad we solved this," he added, patting the Man's arm.

In vain, Aragorn searched his brain for something intelligible to say. One could argue that he had spent enough time among Elves to be quite accustomed to their ways of twisting words and their meanings but, apparently, not only his hearing abilities had deteriorated, but his working mind seemed to have shut down partially as well. Silence stretched out between them instead.

He heard Boromir turn around in his sleep. Merry and Pippin lay further away, Frodo and Sam beside each other (Sam refused to let his master out of sight, even while sleeping, and not minding that that made no sense at all). Gimli was deeply lost in his slumber and Gandalf probably sat somewhere, wide awake.

Legolas nudged him. "And the poem?"

"Ah, very nice."

"Everything I said in it is true. I am very, excessively, very lonely…"

Aragorn shook his head – or rather, he turned it from side to side on his bedroll – and tried to convey an atmosphere of indifference and boredom. Unfortunately, it had no effect on Legolas.

"Well?" the Elf pressed.

Aragorn sighed, finally retreating and giving up. "Legolas, shall I kiss you?"

"Oh, please do!"

He had to admit to himself it felt good. Brushing against the lips before him and letting the tip of his tongue explore the soft curved flesh, reminded him of how much he had missed their closeness. When Legolas opened up to him, he slipped his tongue into the warm, wet hollow. The Elf sighed into the kiss and moved into his embrace. He met Aragorn's actions with his own tongue and stroked the Man's shoulder and upper arm with a determined hand.

Aragorn's arm wound its way around Legolas' waist and encircled it possessively. A small moan escaped the Elf and he swung one leg over Aragorn's hips, bringing their groins in closer contact. The Man felt sparks of lust ignite in his nether regions and he changed the nature of the kiss; his tongue plunged deep into Legolas' mouth. A groan fell from his own lips and Legolas responded by sliding his hand down to Aragorn's lower back. There, underneath the shirt the Man wore, he uncovered some bare skin.

The cool, elven hand against his heated body made Aragorn think of several other places he would like that hand to be. He ground his hips against Legolas' groin, revelling in the touch.

'_Thump'._

_Gimli's snoring…_

'_Thump',' thump'._

_He knows how to snore, the Dwarf…_

'_THUMP'!_

Aragorn pulled away from Legolas in the exact moment the Elf rolled off him.

The thumping stopped.

Aragorn's breath came in shallow puffs as he listened intently, but there was nothing. Slowly, he lowered himself back on his bedroll, and after a moment Legolas lay down too, facing him. Nearly soundlessly, The Elf nuzzled him close, and Aragorn draped an arm over him.

"I did not think you were the sort of person who would resort to violence…" reproached him Legolas in a low voice.

"It was you who pushed me off _my_ bedroll, you know."

"I would have left, had you asked me."

"You stated your intentions quite clearly, I seem to remember."

"Yes, well I had to," the Elf agreed and Aragorn could almost hear how his face was crossed by a triumphant smile, "and are you not so happy I did?"

"Hm."

"I seriously considered jumping you outside Durin's Door, while we waited for Gandalf to open it… He would never have noticed – he was too preoccupied. But then, I am glad I did not, for all those underwater tentacles were not the most enticing sight to be seen you know, and we had our hands full anyway after that…"

"Legolas?"

"Yes, love?"

"Will you do very much more of this pondering out loud tonight?"

The Elf placed a sweet kiss on his chin. "Why?"

"We should try to sleep."

"Ah, right. I forget you are human in this darkness-that-makes-it-possible-to-see-how-terrible-this-place-is."

"I am rolling my eyes," Aragorn announced. "Leave Boromir be."

"I adore it how much you take after me," Legolas nodded, "but you seem to forget to do it also where he is concerned."

"I consciously avoid it. Now let met catch some sleep."

With that, Aragorn closed his eyes. Legolas lithe body lay still against him; he had not been this comfortable since they left Rivendell. He had just begun slipping away when a last, stray thought crossed his mind.

"Legolas?" he whispered.

"You are supposed to be sleeping."

"Yes, but there is something I must ask you."

"I might refuse to answer…"

Aragorn opened his eyes, concerned. "Why would you refuse?"

Legolas chuckled lightly. "I never refuse you Aragorn, you should know that by now."

Aragorn gave him a weak slap on the back.

"Tsk, tsk, there is that violence again…"

"Answer me instead," grumbled Aragorn.

"Which question?"

"Both."

"Cannot," the Elf replied, "you have only asked one."

Aragorn groaned heartily into his bedroll, probably earning himself a dazzling smile from his lover.

"There, there," soothed Legolas, "I might refuse to answer since you ought to be sleeping, not talking."

"Impossible now," the Man grunted, despite feeling exhausted.

"And the first question?" insisted Legolas.

Aragorn turned to face him. "Have you ever been to Gondor? Ever?"

"No."

_Good. _

He closed his eyes once more, letting weariness overtake him and pull him towards the Realm of Dreams. Legolas snuggled closer and Aragorn heard his last words before he fell asleep:

"See, that was not so hard now, was it?"

– xxx –

His was the second watch, and he rose from his bedroll, trying not to disturb Legolas who was floating far away in some elvish reverie.

Gandalf sat staring into the gloom, his staff dimly gleaming, but only so much that Aragorn found him without too much trouble.

The elderly Wizard looked up as he approached.

"No disturbances?" Aragorn queried quietly.

"Nothing serious," Gandalf replied as he stood. "Nothing that could not be easily handled."

With a wink, he turned around and walked towards his own bedroll.

'_Thump', 'thump' _chanted his staff against the floor as he went.

**Does it end now? Sort of depends on your opinions!**


	3. Celebrant, Lothlórien

**I know we're – more or less – book compliant in this fic, but I just _had_ to throw in a line from the first film. It's not the line in itself, but the way it's said which makes it simply wonderful, and according to my sense of humour, very funny. **

**Chapter 3 – Celebrant, Lothlórien**

_Long and winding was our perilous road. Thrown into darkness were our senses. _

_Pursued and hunted – frightened – we fled, _

_to the Mines of Moria, where dwell the dead._

_Into stone we descended, over rock we crept,_

_while the rolling doom of drumming swept,_

_upon us – over and among,_

_the fallen kin we were to join,_

_beneath the earth, before too long._

_By Balin's tomb, we stood our ground,_

_until the orcs were all around._

_And Boromir said: "They have a cave troll."_

(He made a mental note of crossing that last line out.)

_Whatever happened after that? So much fear and such a great loss. _

_Gandalf. _

_Let fall many tears for the Istari!_

Aragorn shook his wearied head to chase the memories away. There would be mourning eventually. Right now, he needed to focus on other matters. Such as crossing this bloody river in one piece.

With that bloody Elf.

Yes, yes, yes, he could see the point. This was the first Elf Legolas had met for a long time so it was natural he would be happy about it. The Man Aragorn had the Man Boromir, The Hobbits had each other and Gimli… well, he was a Dwarf. Gimli had seen his forefather's halls after all, and had experienced a sense of belonging on their journey. (Never mind everyone there had been brutally killed a long time ago; before they realised that, he was happy enough.)

So it made sense Legolas was overjoyed at meeting Haldir. And from what he had seen so far, Aragorn was quite sure Haldir was overjoyed as well. It was Legolas who had first been approached, it was Legolas who had been asked to give away information on the Fellowship (which Aragorn dearly hoped he had not). It was Legolas who had been spoken to in that soft elven tongue. If Aragorn had any say in it, there would be no tongues involved whatsoever.

Aragorn glowered at the marchwarden of Lothlórien where he stood by the running water with Legolas by his side.

"Celebrant is already a strong stream here," Haldir said as if they could not see for themselves, "and it runs both swift and deep."

_Well, obviously. _

Aragorn fought the urge to snort.

"And it is very cold."

Alright, he could not see that, but he would not let this second blond Elf off so easily.

"We do not set foot in it so far north and in these days of watchfulness we do not make bridges," Haldir continued.

He was apparently a talker, Aragorn concluded.

"This is how we cross!"

In one swift move Haldir threw a coil of rope to another Elf who had appeared a few moments earlier among the trees on the other side of the river. This Elf, in his turn, tied the end of the rope around a stem and then passed the rope once more over the water. Haldir secured it about another tree and with a bright, confident smile he ran across the rope and set foot on the opposite bank.

"Follow me!" he cried.

Aragorn threw him a bewildered look. No way could he do that. Maybe Haldir was just showing off? He sneaked a glance at Legolas who was eyeing the rope thoughtfully.

"I can cross this path but the others have not this skill," he said. Then he looked at Aragorn and with a mischievous gleam in his eye he called to the other Elves, "must they swim?"

Haldir's laughter rang out in the forest and Aragorn cursed under his breath.

"No, we have two more ropes! We will fasten them above the other, one shoulder-high and another half-high, and so the strangers should be able to cross."

_Oh, 'strangers' were they? All but Legolas apparently._

Boromir helped fasten the other ropes in the same fashion as the first, and one by one the members of the Company made their way across the freezing Celebrant. If Aragorn had not been so aggravated, he might have thoroughly enjoyed watching Gimli and the Hobbits struggling to the other side.

"Never again!" the Dwarf vowed between gasps as he finally collapsed in a heaving heap on the bank. "Never again shall I be persuaded into anything by mad Elves!"

After that, it was Boromir's turn. Determinedly he set foot on the rope and began crossing, slowly and cautiously. Aragorn watched him go with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Now it was only he and Legolas left. The Elf moved to stand close beside him.

"Shame," he said in a low voice.

"What is a shame?" Aragorn queried.

"That you were saved from swimming. You know how much I like a wet Ranger."

With that, he lightly ran across the rope, not holding on to anything at all.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Haldir called out, "now it is only you left! Make haste!"

It was both easier and more difficult than he had imagined. The ropes did not sway too much, but they did not exactly provide you with a bucketful of comfort either. Finally on the other side, Haldir gave him a nod as he undid the rope.

"Interesting technique. Not elegant, I would say, but efficient."

"Served the purpose," Aragorn grumbled.

"I suppose," smiled Haldir.

He did not return the smile, instead he watched as Haldir's brother Rúmil untied the rope on the bank they had left, coiled it up, turned back towards the trees and disappeared.

"Now," Haldir resumed his endless talking," you have entered the Naith of Lórien. We allow no strangers to spy out the secrets of the Naith. As was agreed, I shall here blindfold the eyes of Gimli the Dwarf."

Judging by the way said Dwarf erupted upon hearing this, Aragorn guessed Legolas had not told him about this particular request from Haldir.

"Oh, I declare you most certainly will not! This agreement was made without my consent and I will not abide by it!" he cried out, waving his axe threateningly in front of the marchwarden. "I am no enemy, I will let you know! Blindfold me, and you must blindfold the Elf." He glared at Legolas.

_Great. _

That did it, Aragorn knew. He drew a long breath and settled in for a long debate.

"Me?!"

_Oh, yes. _

"I am no enemy either, Master Dwarf – I am of this kin!" Legolas protested.

"Maybe so, but I have not crossed a river by one rope only in order to be welcomed in this way." Gimli stated obstinately.

The Elf's eyes flew to the river. "You did not cross the river using only one rope!"

"I did!" the Dwarf insisted. "As far as I could tell, my feet were balancing on one rope, and one rope only."

"But you _held on to another_," remarked Legolas, "that makes two!"

"I never said I counted that one."

"You cannot _not _count it!"

"I can!"

"Not!"

"What?"

Gimli frowned and Legolas bit his lip, furrowing his brow.

"Resume this later?" the Elf asked.

"Later."

"Are you done?" Merry sighed, looking from Dwarf to Elf and back again. "We beg your pardon, mister marchwarden," he said, nodding to Haldir, "they tend to get carried away from time to time."

Aragorn did _not _like the way the Second Elf – as he had decided to name him – regarded Legolas. True, it was impossible to ignore the fierce light that sprang from his lover's eyes when he argued. Or the way his slender hands gracefully danced in the air before him as he aimed to emphasize his words. Or the way his cheeks coloured as his frustration increased. Or how his breathing picked up when he got excited.

In fact, these signs told the tale of other times, but combined with very different settings…

Aragorn's heart rate quickened as he remembered certain nights they had spent together. And certain mornings… and evenings… and breakfasts… They would have to try second breakfast some time.

Forcing himself back to the present, he was just in time to see Haldir place a hand on Legolas's shoulder.

"Easy now…"

Before he could continue, Aragorn broke in. He really had to make clear who was in charge here.

"Come!" He looked at the others encouragingly.

Nine set of eyes turned to him.

Frodo tilted his head to the side. Gimli leaned heavier on his axe. Sam and Merry were looking at him attentively. Legolas raised an eyebrow.

"Strider? Pippin quipped.

Haldir and his elven companion, still among the trees, were silent. Boromir ran a hand through his hair.

"Well," Aragorn began feebly, not having considered a need for additional words. He thought furiously and then picked up his speech, "It is hard upon Gimli to be thus singled out. We shall all go on blindfolded, even Legolas." For this he earned himself an angry glare from Legolas. "I _am _now the leader of this Company, after all," he added, mostly because he wanted to say it in front of the Second Elf.

After much grumbling and muttering they were on their way. Haldir led them along a track which he said should be easy enough for them to follow even though they were temporarily confined to darkness.

Legolas lamented that he could not feast upon the sight of the woods of Lothlórien as he walked behind Aragorn. When the Man took no greater notice of him, he changed the topic.

"You know, I might have done as you bid," he declared in low tones.

"And what did I ask you to do?"

"To 'come'."

"Legolas!" hissed Aragorn.

"Calling my name already?" asked the teasing voice. Then it changed. "Wait! Am I missing out on the fun?"

"What? No! I could not possibly– Legolas, I am walking!"

"I know, but you _can _be rather creative when you are not sulking."

"We are supposed to meet the Lord and the Lady of these woods in only a little while, I could not see them if I were…" Aragorn waved his hand downwards. Not that Legolas could see it, but still.

"If you were..?"

"You know," grumbled the Man.

"No, pray tell!"

"You know!"

"No…" Legolas said loftily, "I seem to have no idea what you are alluding to. You had better tell me."

"If I…" He trailed off.

"Aragorn…" pressed the Elf. "If you were what?"

"Excited," he hissed, feeling colour rush to his face.

Legolas laughed heartily, causing the others to jump high. "Well now, we would not want that," he whispered to Aragorn who was blushing furiously, "yet."

As it turned out, Aragorn needed not worry. They marched on for the rest of the day without coming across neither Lord, nor Lady. When the cool wind of evening stirred among the leafy trees, Haldir halted, only to have Pippin walk straight into him.

The Hobbit retreated confused and backed into Merry, who stumbled and toppled Frodo over. Sam, always tagging along at Frodo's side, was pulled down as well. The rest of the Company only heard the thumping noises but figured from the accompanying laughter drawn from the Lórien Elves that nothing too terrifying had taken place.

"Mad Elves," muttered Gimli to no one in particular. "A wood is no place for a Dwarf! Mines, on the other hand…"

Aragorn filtered out the remains of this presumably long-winded monologue.

"We rest here for the night," Haldir announced. "We cannot allow you to remove your blindfolds, but there is no danger here so you may lie down to sleep where you stand."

A disgruntled murmur arose from the pile of Hobbits.

– xxx –

Having no choice, Aragorn had done pretty much what Haldir had advised: he had lain down beside the track, on a soft patch of grass to sleep. However, for all his good advice, Haldir had not relayed to them how stupid they would feel as they simply dropped to the ground – heedless of what they might find there.

The earth was not muddy, but as far as he knew, Aragorn could have chosen a spot which housed a settlement of ants, or snails or something else he did not particularly wish to find out what it was.

He sighed and tried to find a comfortable position.

The Hobbits were whispering among themselves, some feet away, he guessed. Boromir and Gimli were speaking in hushed voices nearby. Aragorn cared not to catch any words of either conversation.

He wondered where Legolas had gone to. The Elf had given up his earlier attempts to swing Aragorn out of balance – for the one reason that he had succeeded. Now, he was nowhere to be heard – until Aragorn heard him.

And he was speaking to the Second Elf.

Random words and phrases in elvish drifted to him, but he could not discern anything intelligible. The rhythm of their conversation was unsteady, it seemed to Aragorn the debate was rushed. It went without saying he did not like it.

After a while, the conversation was ended. Some moments later someone sat down beside him.

"Do you know how silly you look?" Legolas spoke quietly.

"You are not supposed to see that," Aragorn told him.

"So you admit you look silly?"

"I– " Aragorn aimed a slap in the direction of his lover.

Legolas chuckled lightly. "No, actually you are quite adorable. You have mud on your cheek."

"You are still not supposed to see that."

"I was granted permission to remove my blindfold!" the Elf said triumphantly. "If I promised to put it back on before I go to sleep."

"Why?"

"So that, in the morning, no one discovers I had taken it off in the first place of course!"

"How would we know," smiled Aragorn, "_we _are all blindfolded!"

He did not need his sight to know that a disappointed look passed over Legolas' face.

"I win!" he stated with a grin. "Prove me wrong."

He heard the grumbled complains and knew.

"Fine," Legolas finally acquiesced. "You win. This time."

Aragorn, now with a seeing lover, seized the opportunity to grin a bit broader.

"Stop that," Legolas warned him, "or you might not find out what I had planned."

"What have you planned?"

"Something else than this, to be sure… But I will let you know nonetheless. Stand up."

Aragorn frowned but did as he was asked.

"You really look a mess," Legolas kindly informed him. "Follow me."

He took Aragorn by the hand and led him away from the others. The voices gradually died down around them and the breezy humming of the trees took over. The Man stumbled over some roots now and then, but found Legolas mostly knew where he was going.

"We are not very far away, so keep your voice down."

"I am supposed to speak?"

"No, you are supposed to kiss me."

"Cannot see you…"

Legolas heaved a sigh. "Sometimes, love, you are truly irksome. Now this is a mallorn-tree, so be respectful."

He had no time to ask. Two strong hands pushed him up against a tree trunk and a pair of lips crashed against his own. The Elf wasted no time and he plundered the mouth with his tongue before Aragorn even knew he had allowed him entrance. His world was suddenly spinning and he decided that a few tongues might be acceptable after all.

After that, coherent thought quickly departed as he felt Legolas mapping out the insides of his mouth with his slick, wet muscle. His body finally catching on, he felt himself responding, pulling the lithe form closer.

He kissed back fiercely, tugging at Legolas' bottom lip with his teeth, letting his hands travel up the coarse material of the Elf's winter tunic and tangle in his hair. Meanwhile, Legolas himself was bolder. His hand went immediately to Aragorn's groin and cupped the awakening bulge he found there.

"What happened to 'respectful'?" Aragorn asked him hoarsely, lips against the soft skin of the neck presented to him. He found their current position all too arousing; they had been exploring things during the past year, but never had he been blindfolded while making love.

"'Tis allowed," his lover breathed, all playfulness gone from his voice, "elven tree – I am an Elf."

"Convenient," he had time to remark before Legolas' hand slid underneath the fabric to touch his hardness and all he could do was gasp.

"I want you, Aragorn…"

"Sounds like a warning." He nestled his knee between Legolas' thighs and rubbed at his groin.

The Elf clung to his body and moaned throatily while he continued to stroke Aragorn's erection as best he could.

"Aragorn! Legolas!"

Aragorn tore his lips away from the soft earlobe they had been exploring when Haldir's call rushed through the forest.

"Damnation!" he swore as Legolas uttered some less pretty words in elvish and hastily stepped away from him.

"He is not here yet," Legolas said quickly and quietly.

In vain, Aragorn tried to arrange his appearance by swiping his hands over his heated body and running them through his hair. "How do I look?"

"Like someone I would like on top of me."

The Man made a face. "Seriously."

"You will do," stated Legolas as he propelled Aragorn in the right direction back to the track. "Me. Later."

As they walked, Aragorn tried to convince his body to divide its blood equally between his body parts, and not only focus on his nether regions. It proved impossible.

At Haldir's second call – as far as they knew – Legolas picked up the pace.

"This would all be much easier if we had told them," he complained, but only received an inaudible reply in return.

"Really, Aragorn! My family, your family, and our closest friends know, what is the point in keeping it a secret here?"

"I do not know," Aragorn answered him truthfully. He did not know why it felt strange to let the members of the Company in on their relationship.

"I do not particularly enjoy sneaking off like this, and one might think you are ashamed of me…"

Aragorn stopped dead in his tracks and turned in Legolas' direction. "I am not ashamed of you!"

"Shush, I know!" the Elf said. "Why would you be? On we go." He tugged at Aragorn's hand and they began moving once more.

"And you seemed to be enjoying our sneaking-off," muttered Aragorn.

"I did, lover, but if we keep this up, how in the world am I supposed to let Boromir know that he does not stand a chance?"

Aragorn shook his head. He was about to say that Legolas had it all wrong, but was hindered by the hushed voice by his side:

"Another step and they will see us." He paused. "Hm… you might want to lie down on your stomach as soon as possible."

"Am I the only one?"

"Yes!" Legolas declared happily. "I am in total control."

"Lucky you…" Aragorn took a step forward but caught his foot underneath something that made him stumble, and with a loud rumble he crashed down on the grass.

The surprised gasps of his fellow comrades sprung up but all he could do was to settle down – indeed pressing his still throbbing groin to the ground – and try to find a comfortable position.

"Clumsy humans," the Elf commented aloud. In a lower voice, laced with a smile meant to be heard, he added, "Handy, feet, are they not?"

Aragorn closed his eyes and prepared to curse the first thing that came to mind. As it proved, he was promptly provided with ideas.

"I was about to send out a search party for you," Haldir addressed Legolas.

"No need," replied his lover, "there were some things I had to clarify to the Ranger, that is all."

"Again, we beg your pardon mister marchwarden," Aragorn heard Merry say with another tired sigh, "they tend to get carried away from time to time – too."

**tbc**

_Istari _is Quenya meaning 'Wise One'. This name was given to the members of an order of five mysterious strangers who arrived in Middle-earth in around the year III 1000. The Elvish name '_Istar' _is translated as 'Wizard', and among these five strangers is of course Gandalf.


	4. Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien

**Your responses make me laugh, blush and cry out in ecstasy (I don't mean in a strange way, mind you) and it makes it all worthwhile! Thank you!**

**Chapter 4 – Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien**

_Golden might a bough-crown be,_

_in fair Lothlórien, upon a tree,_

_but we were blinded ere we knew,_

_the grass a-gleaming 'neath the dew!_

He frantically crossed out the last two lines, almost tearing the parchment to pieces with his quill. If they had been blindfolded – which they had – he would have no idea – which he actually did not – if the grass had been dewy or not. Logic was everything where writing was concerned.

And words, he supposed. Words were presumably rather important as well.

He tried another angle:

_Tall and graceful is the Lady,_

_wise and kingly is the Lord…_

...

…

_Around them light shall never fade –y…_

_Fade-y? Fady…_

_Honestly._

Aragorn groaned and hit his forehead repeatedly against the grassy ground he was reclining upon.

"Um… Strider?"

"Yes, Pippin?" the Man answered him, facedown.

"All well I trust?"

"Perfectly fine, thank you."

"Good."

Aragorn breathed in the rich scent of the earth, keeping his eyes firmly closed. This was beginning to get to him – badly.

"Strider?"

"Yes, Pippin?"

"How is your writing going?"

"Not very well."

"I suspected as much," the Hobbit said wisely. "It must be hard to write in the fashion of the Elves, I reckon. Especially since you are a human."

"Yes!" said Man cried out, more exasperatedly than he had intended.

"Yes," Pippin echoed him thoughtfully.

After a moment, "hey, Strider!"

Aragorn heaved a long sigh. "Yes, Pippin?"

"You should ask Legolas to help you! He is an Elf you know," the excited voice announced.

"Pippin, we are in an elven city… there are hundreds of Elves around."

The words rang all too true. Somehow, after the initial mess at the Celebrant, Aragorn had managed to convince himself that Lórien was devoid of every other Elf than the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel. In that way, he would experience no further competition from those light, ethereal, blond, singing, admittedly quite intriguing creatures. Upon their arrival in the city he had been proved wrong though as the place was packed to the brim with potential rivals.

Aragorn had glowered in every direction, a possibility he had been given the moment word reached them that the Lady knew their business and wanted them to proceed without constraints. He could see that Legolas was – for once – stunned, and he could only hope it was due to the beauty of the tree-city – not the curious faces that obviously were taking in the attractive form of the newly arrived Wood Elf.

"Hm… true… did not consider that."

Aragorn raised his head and looked up at the Hobbit who was sitting a few feet away with his legs crossed, brow furrowed as if in deep thought.

"What?"

"I did not consider that," clarified Pippin.

"What did you not consider?"

"That there are others here who could help you, of course! I have grown very accustomed to the fact that Legolas is the only Elf around, if you see my point. And now they are positively swarming!" He waved his arms energetically through the air in a most explanatory manner. "Not that I am so very used to being around Elves in the first place, mind you Strider, but still." He stopped waving and resumed his previous position, leaning forward and resting his chin in his palm.

"As if I did not know," Aragorn muttered.

"What was that?" Pippin asked.

"Nothing. Anyway, if Lord Elrond had wanted Legolas' opinion included in the report, he would have asked _him _to write it."

"Legolas is very intelligent," the Hobbit supplied gravely.

"He is old," grumbled Aragorn.

Pippin sent him a questioning glance but apparently decided it was not a subject worth pursuing. "In any case it is good you do not need him for your writing," he said instead, "since he is off with Haldir."

Aragorn shot up from the grass, sending his quill on an unspecified flight to the heavens. "What is he doing with the Sec- with Haldir?!" he demanded, correcting his words in the last moment.

Pippin staggered backwards – if it at all was possible to stagger when one was already seated – and stared wide-eyed at the Ranger.

"For the love of the Longbottom Leaf, Strider, calm down!" he said, "I know only that they took off some hours ago, together." He stopped staggering – probably realising it was a nearly impossible thing to do – and sank back down on the grass. "Legolas is not spending much time with us these days," he said slowly as if the fact had only recently dawned upon him.

_So I have noticed._

"No," he answered instead. It seemed safer.

"I wonder why that is..?" the Hobbit mused, apparently completely oblivious to Aragorn's suspicions regarding the matter. "Maybe he simply likes Elves?"

_Damn those Elves! Well, not Legolas, of course._

"Elves," muttered Aragorn.

"Yes, I just said so." Pippin looked him over and then shook his head. "Really, Strider, you ought to listen more attentively.

– xxx –

In fact, most of the Company had left their dwelling that day, and it was nearing dinnertime when they all returned.

Frodo looked a bit more at ease now that he was temporarily enclosed within this safe haven. His eyes had regained some of their light, Aragorn was happy to notice where he now was sitting by the campfire, watching Sam cook their dinner.

Sam, when not cooking or faithfully trailing after his master, usually spent his time smiling blissfully. "There are Elves, and then there are Elves, if you take my meaning," he had told Aragorn the other day as they sat together and the Man's eyes were following Legolas' form walking among the trees.

"Hmm…" he offered.

"These are quite different from those who dwell in Rivendell. The Elves here are more… royal I think, but sadder," Sam continued. "I first thought I would prefer these ones, but I have come to the conclusion that I love Rivendell more… The Elves there are lighter of heart, easier, all in all, if you understand."

Legolas was bending over, picking up something from the ground. Interesting ideas seeped into Aragorn's mind at the sight of his lover in this position. Unfortunately, they also proved to have an unwanted effect on his body.

"Yes…" Aragorn nodded vaguely in Sam's direction.

"Not that I am complaining," Sam assured him, "I always wanted to see Elves, and I do still – if there are any more to see – and I am thoroughly enjoying my stay here."

Legolas straightened and looked over whatever he had found. An errant golden strand had escaped his braids and slim fingers idly brushed it away from the forehead. Then he turned his back to the others, bent over again and so providing Aragorn's dizzying mind with even more imagery.

"More…" the Man mumbled, feeling his heated blood rush through his body to collect in his nether regions.

"Indeed," Sam agreed, "I confess there are other places I would dearly like to visit, but I suppose I would prefer doing it without the threat of impending doom upon me."

Aragorn had no idea which the impending doom the Hobbit was talking about was. As far as he was concerned, the only disaster looming was what would happen if he did not find a secluded, and preferably soundproof, spot in these woods very soon.

Drawing his coat about him, he abruptly stood, earning himself a puzzled look from Sam.

"Very good," Aragorn said curtly, choosing a direction and walking in among the trees.

That had been a few days ago. Not since they had entered Caras Galadhon, had the Elf sought out the Man – or the other way around. Aragorn suspected that Legolas was still annoyed because of his reluctance to tell the others about their relationship. Or maybe he was madly in love with the Second Elf and had forgotten all about him?

What was – almost – even more concerning was that the animosity between Legolas and Gimli had virtually disappeared. Galadriel, always up to date (one had to admire her), had offered the Dwarf some comforting words at their first meeting, and they had created a profound change indeed. (Aragorn was not exactly sure what she had said since he was busy scowling at any Elf who dared let his eyes linger on Legolas, but he guessed it was something about the Dwarves not at all being responsible for the evil they evidently had awoken in the depths of Moria. If there was anyone who could convince the world otherwise, it probably was Galadriel.) Anyhow, these past days, Gimli often tagged along when Legolas went away from their camp.

_Which he did all too often._

Not that Aragorn imagined he would have any competition from a Dwarf, but nonetheless it _was_ unsettling.

Now, though, he was here – they both were. Legolas and Gimli that was, Aragorn was sitting where he always sat. _(Having no one to trail along this silly City of Trees with…)_

Haldir was not with them, which was good for everyone involved. He suspected that the Second Elf might not approve of his idea to drench him in Sam's stew, even if Aragorn would take pleasure in it.

As all the members of the Fellowship came to sit down around the fire, conversation sprung up.

"And what about you, Boromir?" said Merry, clearly continuing a conversation they had begun earlier.

The Gondorian looked up and Aragorn actually thought he could see a flush spread across the Man's cheeks. Boromir shook his head. "Nay, nay… I do not."

"Come on! There must be someone! Our dear Sam here cannot wait to return to the Shire and a certain lady…" Pippin teased his comrade with twinkling eyes.

"Yes, Sam!" smiled Frodo, elbowing the poor embarrassed Hobbit in his side. "Do not try to deny it."

Sam mumbled something long and utterly unintelligible as he lowered himself over the stew he was cooking. His ears shone red, successfully matching the evening sun.

Aragorn shook his head but the movement caught the Halflings' attention.

"Strider!" Merry exclaimed as if he had seen him for the first time.

"Yes?" he answered warily.

"You have not told us about yourself now, have you?"

"I have not?" queried Aragorn which unfortunately was understood as more of a statement than a question by the Hobbit.

"You have not!" Pippin accused him.

"Leave the lad alone, you nosy scoundrels," huffed Gimli, who seemed to be in a particularly good mood that night. Although it was hard to tell with all that facial hair and the gruff voice.

Merry and Pippin promptly ignored him. "So, tell us then, have _you _anyone special waiting for you when you come home again?" They looked expectantly at Aragorn…

…whose stomach plummeted to the ground (which in reality was not a long way since he was already sitting down, but he had no time to consider the possibilities of a stomach falling _into _the ground anyway).

"Well…" he said to buy some of that time. "Eh…"

He was cut off –more or less, as he was not saying much – by a dull _smack _against one of his boots. He looked down and saw a small pebble lying on the grass.

"Strider?" Merry insisted, reclaiming his attention.

Aragorn ran a hand through his hair. "I… not… really…"

'_Smack!' _

Another pebble hit his thigh this time. His eyes shot up and scouted the scene. He did not have to look far: a positively fuming Legolas was staring at him.

_Oh._

He swallowed. "Look, Merry…" He threw a glance at the Hobbits who were all eyeing him curiously.

'_Smack!' _His thigh again.

'_Smack!' _His shoulder.

'_Smack!' 'Smack!' 'Smack!'_ Arm, chest, knee.

"Ouch! Legolas, stop it!" He was frenetically rubbing at all the places the stones hit him.

The Elf rose from his seat and strode towards him.

'_Smack!' _Shoulder.

"Stop it! Legolas!" He raised his arms and covered his face, trying to avoid the small, sharp pebbles flying all about him.

'_Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!' _Chest, chest, chest, chest, chest.

"Merry," hissed Legolas–_'smack!'_ –, "ask Aragorn your question once more."

"A- alright…" Merry's voice almost faltered. "Um, Strider…?"

'_Smack!'_

Aragorn cried out indignantly as one of the stones hit his elbow.

"Properly, Merry," Legolas said, slowly advancing towards the Ranger.

"Have you… eh, anyone waiting for you?" squeaked the Hobbit.

'_Smack!'_

"Yes!" Aragorn cried out, recoiling before the onslaught. "Yes, I do!"

'_Smack!'_

"Le-go-las, end this now!"

"Not until you tell them."

"Fine! Fine, I will tell them!"

'_Smack!'_

"I will!"

It stopped.

Little by little, Aragorn lowered his arms and tried catching his breath. Legolas was standing in front of him with a stern look in his features. The rest of the Company was staring at them, frozen in their spots with mouths hanging open in shock.

He cleared his throat nervously. This was it. Legolas tapped his foot.

"So," said Aragorn.

Frodo blinked and Boromir stirred. One by one, they closed their mouths.

"So, Merry, to answer your question correctly…" He cleared his throat again. "Yes, there is someone, but, no, this individual is not exactly waiting for me."

"Okay," Merry breathed.

"This someone is… well…" Aragorn's stomach (on the ground) turned over. Above him, Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Is here," he finished weakly.

Silence stretched between them.

"Uh, good?" Sam said at last.

Aragorn nodded awkwardly. "Yes. And it is… Legolas."

The tension in Legolas seemed to dissolve slightly at his words, but if he were to be honest with himself, Aragorn was still scared half to death.

"Legolas?" Pippin inquired, confused.

If he was going to do this, he might as well do it all the way.

"Yes, Legolas and I have been lovers for the past year."

_There._

He exhaled. And then felt all of his blood rush to his face.

"You and Legolas," said Frodo, looking questioningly from one to the other.

"Aye! The Man and the Elf!" Gimli suddenly grunted out rather forcefully, making everyone jump high. "And to tell you the truth, I was beginning to think Legolas would leave that grim-faced, muddy, Ranger-of-few-words-fool if he did not confess to it soon."

Surprised, to say the least, Aragorn turned to the Dwarf. "You knew?"

Legolas frowned, "Gimli, having you call Aragorn a 'Ranger-of-a-few-words-fool' is not acceptable! It is a complete mix-up of words!"

"Of course I knew, laddie!" Gimil huffed, expertly ignoring the Elf. (Aragorn was torn between being impressed and irritated because of the Dwarf's obvious knowledge on how to handle Legolas efficiently.) "Your Elf here has not been talking of anything else." He inclined his head to Legolas. "And the Gods know I am no good at relationship advice."

The Man was pleased to see that a warm colour crept across his lover's skin as well.

Gimli's words had managed to lift the fog and soon everyone was more or less back to normal. Legolas sunk down to the ground at Aragorn's feet.

"Well indeed!" said Merry, looking at them closely. "I give you my blessing!"

"Good for you Strider!" Pippin decided. "Sam, is dinner ready soon? I am so, _so _hungry!"

Frodo smiled at them, and Sam – before he was assaulted by Pippin – threw them a wondrous glance.

Gimli was stuffing his pipe, clearly quite happy to be thus released from his counselling duties.

Only Boromir showed no sign of activity; the broad-shouldered Man regarded them both solemnly.

Aragorn was pulled out of his thoughts when Legolas shifted before him and nestled closer. Hesitating, Aragorn slowly spread his legs and let the Elf lay back against him. His heart was still beating at a probably unhealthy speed and naturally his lover had to notice.

"Calm down," whispered Legolas, "you did good. Not very elegantly put, but at least you said it."

"You did not exactly provide me with alternatives."

"Choosing never was your strength, love."

Aragorn looked down at him. "I have no problems with choosing!"

"No?" The Elf shook his head. "You are terrible, but I am kind and love you anyway."

"How very generous of you."

"I know."

"I will have bruises all over because of you," Aragorn grumbled, changing the topic.

"Revenge."

"Revenge?"

"Yes, after the way you so savagely stained my skin with ink in Elrond's library, I thought you needed some markings of your own."

Aragorn stared at him incredulously. "We washed away the ink in the bath! I will have bruises for days!"

"It is different," Legolas stated simply. "I would never soak my face in ink deliberately, but you get bruises anyway."

Aragorn bit back a reply when he heard Frodo, distributing their eating-bowls, addressing the Dwarf.

"By the way, Gimli," the Hobbit said, handing Boromir a bowl, "I was not sure you believed in any Gods?"

"Me neither," the Dwarf admitted, "but one needs _something_ to pray to when the Elf starts complaining of his love life." He waved his pipe in their direction. "And so far it seems to have worked!"

–xxx –

_Oh, Lórien the beautiful, Lórien the fair,_

_long have we dwelled in your embrace,_

_but we are departing, leaving this lair,_

_and other lands, we turn now to face._

_By boat and stream,_

_a flooding current,_

_on the long-winding river_

_of Anduin._

Aragorn scribbled down the last lines on his parchment in a hurry. The boats were awaiting them on the bank and he could not have been happier to go. After the Grand Revelation – as the Hobbits liked to call it – he had been afraid of even standing close to Legolas lest they should start taunting him.

_Him_, yes, since they soon decided that his blushing face was much more fun than Legolas' unmoved and relaxed mask of indifference.

That was all; it had nothing to do with any other Elf.

And definitely not a certain Elf who had come to them that morning, brightly announcing that he was sent 'once more to be their guide!'

_Oh, joy – time for celebration._

Not.

Therefore, the boats Celeborn had offered them seemed like heaven in comparison. They were to follow along the Great River to the Falls of Rauros until it became necessary to decide which road to take henceforth.

Boromir wished to go to Minas Tirith and had asked Aragorn to join him. Legolas had immediately declared he would be accompanying them, loosely explaining that his father, the King of Mirkwood, was on holiday anyway and was not expecting him home so soon. Aragorn had started to say that no one really went on holidays in these dark times, but had been silenced by one stern look from his lover. The rest of the Company had yet to choose their path.

They said their goodbyes one last time, thanking the Lord and the Lady of the woods for their hospitability and assistance, and wandered down the bank to their vessels. Boromir fell into step with Aragorn.

"We travel swift and light, I gather?"

"We do, and we shall have to divide ourselves so that each boat carries an equal load."

"In that case, I shall take those two Halflings." Boromir pointed to Merry and Pippin who were busy trying to figure out exactly how many _lembas_ equalled two full hobbit breakfasts.

Aragorn nodded, eyes falling on Frodo and Sam, huddling close together in front of them. "They can sit with me."

Boromir followed his gaze. "Frodo and Sam," he asked, sending his companion a doubting glance. "I should have imagined that you and Legolas would be travelling together?"

Aragorn tried a comfortable smile. It failed.

"No," he stated. "The load will be too heavy. Let Legolas and Gimli sit together."

Boromir stopped and caught his eye. The Gondorian placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in. "Aragorn, you have not to fear any competition from the Dwarf."

In that moment, something brutally pulled Aragorn away from the other Man. He was spun around so swiftly that his mind toppled over and left his head spinning. Two warm lips pressed against his own, and two strong arms encircled his waist possessively.

Aragorn really had no option but to kiss back.

When Legolas finally released him, he was out of breath and still slightly woozy. The Elf helpfully supported him by replacing a dark strand of hair behind his ear.

"Boromir!" Legolas exclaimed happily as if he had not seen him in ages. "How are you?"

**tbc**


	5. Sarn Gebir, River Anduin

**Here we are again! I will tell you that I have no idea how to end this silliness, but I suppose it is like Gandalf might say: "The journey is over where the road ends." Oh, I hope you enjoy this one. I did, and certainly Aragorn.**

**Chapter 5 – Sarn Gebir, River Anduin**

Anyone might try sitting in a boat for seven days, and he would soon discover that 'pretty' was not the same as 'comfortable'. The boats of Lórien were elegantly carved and they glided through the water of the Great River Anduin as silently as the Fellowship could ever have wished. But now, after a week had passed, Aragorn was bored and had straining muscles all over.

They were floating along, securely in the middle of the river, keeping as far away as they could from its eastern banks and the shadow from the south. Little by little they were approaching the Falls of Rauros and the tricky, stony place of Sarn Gebir, but that was not yet, he reckoned. Evening wore on and the waning moon climbed the heavens drearily. These lands were not very inspiring.

Aragorn also had another problem: the creature Gollum who had been their constant pursuer since before they entered Moria had finally been spotted by Frodo and – amazingly enough – Sam. Being now the self-proclaimed leader of this Fellowship he had joined, Aragorn had told the others of this peril (Gollum's pursuit that was, not the surprising fact that Sam was _that_ attentive) and every night they kept a sharp look-out. It worked well, in a way, since Gollum dared not show himself, even to the smallest Hobbit (Pippin). On the other hand, Aragorn would prefer to catch the wretched and slippery sneak before he found the opportunity to strangle them all in their sleep.

And… If he were allowed to name one more disconcerting issue, it would be that he was in the leading boat and so had no chance to make sure Gimli kept a proper distance to Legolas.

Other than that, things were pretty much alright.

Well, then there was Boromir. He appeared slightly uneasy… Not that Aragorn blamed him, really, given the obvious lack of comfort in the boats, but why did the Man keep staring at Frodo? It was not as if the Hobbit was seated on a pile of cushions. Just because Boromir felt the hard wood beneath his–

Aragorn frantically shook his head to get rid of the thought. The last thing he desired was to create images of Boromir's private parts in his mind. He was sure there was nothing wrong with them, but that did not mean he wanted to think about them!

"Aragorn?" Frodo's eyes glinted in the dim light of the last, thinning crescent of the moon. "Is something the matter?"

"No." He continued to shake his head as it seemed fitting, but he slowed down the movements a little. No need to upset the Ring-bearer. Also, Frodo was not very likely to be interested in discussing Boromir's body shapes. It might seem a bit odd if he raised the subject.

So, all in all, everything was fine.

If it had not been for the waters which were suddenly running very fast. At Sam's cry, Aragorn looked up and saw, he too, the sharp rocks that cut off their way downriver. A swift current rapidly caught hold of the boats and thrust them ruthlessly towards the eastern shore. Grabbing his paddle, Aragorn used all of his strength to stay his boat. Frodo and Sam did the same. With a pang he realised he must have lost count of the miles, and that they were indeed closer to Sarn Gebir than he had thought.

A harsh _bump_ told him that one of the other boats had collided with his, the first one.

"Hoy there, Aragorn!" Boromir cried out over the noise of the rumbling stream.

Aragorn briefly wondered what it was that possessed any living creature to cry out 'hoy there' whilst caught in a deathly current, but he refrained from asking.

"This is madness! No boat can live in Sarn Gebir, be it night or day!" Boromir shouted.

_Oh, come on! It was not planned!_

Aragorn bit his tongue. "Back, back!" he cried instead. "Turn! Turn if you can."

Hah, a challenge!

They managed to steady their boats somewhat by driving their paddles down deep into the water, but despite their efforts, they were carried closer and closer to the eastern side of the River.

"All together, paddle! Paddle, or we shall be driven on the shoals!"

Naturally, Boromir had to shout. Aragorn heard nothing from Legolas or Gimli, but he had no time to check on them. For even though he hated to admit it, Boromir was right: his shallow boat grated against the stony bottom of the waters.

_Damn!_

He was about to shove his paddle down among the stones to try and push backwards, but in that moment a twang of bowstrings caught his attention. The distinctive hissing of several arrows filled the air and soon the sharp metal edges shot down among them. One smote Frodo between his shoulders, but bounced back when it touched the _mithril _mail he wore. A second arrow pierced Aragorn's hood, something he did not particularly approve of.

Legolas' cry carried to his ears: "_Yrch!"_

And to avoid any possible misunderstandings, Gimli immediately echoed him in the common tongue: "Orcs!"

_Yes, thank you! Noted._

More arrows were fired from the east-bank and they came whining overhead in hoards. Frenetically, the Company strained at the paddles in the darkness. Ever so slowly they moved, expecting and dreading the hits the arrows might make. At last the water calmed and they reached the middle of the stream. With a last effort they thrust towards the western shore and found refuge there among some bushes.

Aragorn was breathing hard and sweat ran down his neck. There were no more arrows.

He opened his mouth to inquire about the others, but before he was given the chance, a dark shadow rose in the sky in the south. As it drew nearer it blocked out the light of the very stars. Gradually the shadow grew overhead and Aragorn would lie if he did not say he felt a great dread at seeing it.

Legolas jumped out of his boat and, bringing with him his bow, he ran up the bank to get a clearer view. Aragorn supposed. He doubted that his lover was running like mad because of the benefit from exercise.

As the black shape sped towards the Company at a frightening pace, Frodo drew a sharp breath and Sam began to tremble where he sat. No more was the shadow simply a shadow. Wide wings now spread across the heavens and from the eastern bank shrill cries of joy sprang up.

The Elf turned and notched an arrow. The bow of Lórien sang and the arrow let loose sailed into the darkness. A broken cry pierced the air, the shadow fell and once more, the sky was clear. On the eastern shore, there was silence.

In the leader-boat, Aragorn was damn proud.

– xxx –

They still sat in their boats, but now in a shallow bay they had found upstreams. The night was old but none of them wished to go on at present. The lighting of a fire seemed too perilous.

Merry and Pippin were shuffling about in their vessel, trying to move Boromir's long legs out of the way. When they had finally succeeded in finding a comfortable position, the Man enjoyed shoving them aside with a most uncivil foot.

Frodo and Sam were sharing troubled looks and whispers, and Gimli was munching away on _lembas_.

"Praised be the bow of Galadriel, and the hand and eye of Legolas!" he cried out suddenly, spraying crumbs all over Aragorn.

"It was a fine gift indeed," said Legolas, smiling.

"But who can say what it hit?" muttered Aragorn, still brushing away the _lembas_ crumbs.

"It hit nothing," Legolas told him flatly.

He looked up, confused. "What do you mean? Of course it hit something. That dreadful, winged creature for one!" He considered waving his arms in a Pippin-like manner to further clarify what he meant, but thought better of it. After all, they had only come upon one Evil Winged Creature of Darkness that day.

Legolas sighed emphatically. "Aragorn," he said as if explaining the simplest matter to an obstinate child. "The bow did not hit anything. The _arrow, _on the other hand, hit something."

There were giggles coming from the third boat. Aragorn threw some of the crumbs in the Hobbits' direction, but unfortunately they did not agree and fell self-sacrificing to the ground instead.

"You know, Legolas is right," Merry's voice announced from underneath Boromir's knee. "Ouch, you big oaf!" he added when the Gondorian pushed him away.

"Well, I liked the shadow not at all!" stated Gimli. "I never thought to utter these words, but I am glad to share the company of an Elf." He placed a hand on Legolas' shoulder.

Almost stumbling out of his boat, Aragorn abruptly stood and thrust out the first words that came on his tongue. "We must keep watch!"

"We must keep watch?" Boromir repeated, blinking. He raised himself up a little from where he was reclining. More giggling drifted out, from underneath his shanks this time.

Aragorn nodded vigorously. "Yes. Dark hides us now, but what the day will show, who can tell?" He figured that by choosing the right words, he might come across as a bit intimidating. Everyone knew that drama only heightened the experience, so to speak. And no, that had absolutely nothing to do with ideas that had kept on filling his head ever since he had been blindfolded and pushed against the mallorn-tree by his lover!

Gimli eyed him curiously. "You should get some rest, laddie," he advised. "You look as drained as an emptied mine!"

_Oh no, he did not buy that one._

He just had to get the message across…

"We are all weary," he began. "Gimli, lay down and rest if you will, but I cannot." Then, trying to look like he had just been struck by the idea, he said, "let us change boats, you and I. Frodo and Sam need their sleep as well."

He pointedly ignored Legolas who rolled his eyes like never before.

"Yes, Gimli!" called Pippin from behind Boromir's back. "Do change boats with Strider so that he can be comfortable… watching out for us."

It took a great deal of huffing and puffing (and one messed-up braided beard) before the Dwarf had swapped places with Aragorn and was settled in the leader-boat. Triumphantly, the Man sank down beside Legolas who lay watching him with an amused expression.

"That was horrible." He shook his fair head but nonetheless made room for Aragorn beside him.

"It was the best I could think of."

"Then _meleth_, you need to work on your thinking."

Legolas turned so that he faced Aragorn easier. The Elf snaked an arm around his waist and placed a soft kiss on his lips. "But I forgive you. After all, there are some things that do not require much thinking. You are good enough at those."

Aragorn allowed himself to be kissed for a while, but he was sure to check his responses. It did not do for the Leader of the Company to lie moaning in the dark! At least not when the rest of said Company were huddled only inches away.

"So, have we decided which road to take?" Legolas asked when they pulled apart.

"No…"

Boromir still wanted to go to Minas Tirith but Aragorn was now uncertain. They were not far from Amon Hen, the high seats of the old Kings, and he had a wish to see it.

"Tsk, tsk… there is that problem with decision making again…"

"This is not choosing between apples and plums you know!" He blurted out, feeling a tad bit exasperated as no one seemed to understand the immense task that had settled on his shoulders.

"No, how could it be?" Legolas agreed, patting said shoulder.

"Exactly." Aragorn nodded, thinking that somewhere along the line he might turn out to be a good future King after all.

"Since you did not bring any apples or plums with you…"

"Of course I did n- Legolas! What does that have to do with anything?" He scrambled into a (sort of) sitting position to be able to stare down at the Elf's cool expression.

"I do not know! It was not I who initiated this debate about fruits," Legolas defended himself.

"I am discussing the peril of Middle-earth here!"

_Gods! Did not anyone understand him?_

Legolas shook his head once more, looking at Aragorn as if he seriously doubted his intelligence. He spoke slowly. "No, you are thinking about fruits, love. You do know that a plum and the Evil Eye are two fundamentally diverse objects?"

"Of course I do!" exclaimed Aragorn. He would have thrown his hands into the air if he did not need them to steady himself in the narrow boat.

"Good, because really lover, should the situation arise, I dearly hope you will be able to tell the difference between Sauron and a fruit basket." There was a telling frown on the Elf's face.

Aragorn thought he would love to put _Legolas_ in a fruit basket and ship him off to Sauron just to see how witty the Elf would be then.

"Oh, Aragorn love," Pippin piped up suddenly, before he had a chance to consider the difficulties surrounding him not being there when Sauron opened the package (and so consequently missing out on everything anyway), "how is the guarding-us-thingy going?"

By the sounds of it, the Hobbits were almost dying from giggling. As far as Aragorn was concerned, they were welcome to do precisely that. Or, not dying maybe as it would upset the Fellowship statistics even further, but no one had ever suffered seriously from fainting, had they?

Aragorn looked down at his lover to gain some support, but Legolas only presented a brilliant smile which did not fade no matter how much the Man scowled at it.

"Fine!" he grunted out, suspecting that Merry and Pippin cared not at all. It would serve them right to be snatched away by Gollum while he simply looked the other way.

Oh, alright! Not snatched away, but if Gollum settled for… poking them a little, he would not intervene at once. Gollum obviously was the poking type.

Beside him Legolas stirred. "Come here," he asked in a lower voice, and gently tugged at Aragorn's sleeve.

For a fleeting moment he cursed himself for finding such an attractive lover. A stone troll, for example, must surely be easier to resist? In the end (or rather, straight away, to be honest), however, he complied and lay down against the lithe form of his lover once more.

Against his will (at least that was what he tried to tell himself) his body quickly moulded against Legolas' so that they lay partially on their backs, partially facing each other. Well, there was no harm in being comfortable, he decided. Relaxing a little he felt Legolas slide down his body to rest his head on Aragorn's chest.

Except he did not.

Just as Gimli's first snore reverberated in the air, Aragorn felt nimble fingers pull at the laces that held his shirt together, only to expose some naked skin to the chilly night.

Now this was a precarious matter. Anyone knew how dangerous it was to try and stop a determined Elf. On the other hand, he had often been told as a child to be mindful of exposing himself to the cold as he was human and not elven, unlike his friends. So what to do?

As it proved, his problems were solved for him as Legolas' warm tongue descended upon him and licked small, teasing patterns on his chest.

Aragorn inhaled deeply (everyone had to breathe at some point) and even successfully timed it with another one of Gimli's snores. Legolas raised his head briefly and caught his eye, sending him a wicked grin indeed.

It was clear for anyone to see (but not that Aragorn hoped they watched) that this did not bode well. For some reason though, he found he was extremely reluctant to put an end to the activities. Instead he avidly watched his blond Elf wait until the next snore began rolling over them before he opened up Aragorn's shirt even more.

The elven tongue trailed over his skin which prickled at the contact. The first faint sparks of lust gradually grew stronger as they swept through his body, settling in the lower parts of his stomach. His hands found their way to Legolas' hair, tangled in his locks and traced the sensitive, pointed ear tip. (On such occasions as these, those pointed ears certainly served their purpose. Well, apart from the obvious hearing issue, of course.)

Legolas wriggled against him, and to the delight of the sparks in Aragorn's stomach, he pressed his groin against the Man's thigh. The evident hardness matched his own growing bulge, currently covered by Legolas' body.

As yet another ringing snore washed over them, the Elf swept his tongue over a dusky nipple and then gave it an affectionate tug with his teeth. Aragorn arched upwards, letting out a low moan that was effectively drowned by the Dwarf's snoring.

There was no going back now, he knew what he wanted and could only hope that was what his lover intended. He was getting more and more uncomfortable in his clothes, unconsciously placing his hands on Legolas' shoulders and pushing him further down the length (of his _body_, mind you!).

The Elf responded immediately, but he pulled Aragorn with him, making sure they were as low down in the boat as possible. The Man grabbed the first bundle he found on the bottom of their vessel and shoved it underneath his head, his aching need now pressing against Legolas' stomach.

During the next snore, Legolas deftly unfastened the laces that held Aragorn's straining flesh captive and released it. The chilly touch of night came almost as a relief to him, but was soon erased as his lover's warm, wet tongue licked the tip of his member. Aragorn bit his lip hard to prevent the cry which threatened to escape him, waiting until Gimli's next snore to let it out.

Legolas encircled his risen member with one hand, pulling back the skin that hid the glistening head, but he did nothing until the rumbling sound from the Dwarf once more filled the air.

Aragorn felt his body melt into a sizzling pool as his Elf took him into his mouth. He fought to keep his eyes open, wanting to see his flesh disappear into that soft heat. Legolas skilful tongue and lips slid up and down, eliciting quenched groans from Aragorn and drawing small beads of wetness from the tip of his length.

Breathing hard, he pressed his palms to the wood, only succumbing truly to the pleasure when the ringing snores reached their full, deafening height. Sending his gaze further down, he saw Legolas undo the laces of his own leggings and take himself in hand. In the still unusually gloomy light of the approaching dawn, Aragorn watched his lover stroke himself, timing the rhythmic movements of his mouth.

The sight had never failed to arouse him, and soon the muscles in his groin tensed. Using his last shreds of willpower, he forced his body to wait until Gimli's next snore rang out, until he came, almost sensing the smile that tugged at Legolas' lips. Shaking violently, his hands shot from the boat's bottom to caress every inch of his lover he could reach. Feeling the movements of the Elf's slowing lips becoming erratic, he continued to offer his closeness, until the Legolas climaxed and he could finally pull him up to kiss him properly.

Finally catching his breath, and having one satisfied Elf in his arms, he refastened both their leggings and his shirt. Gimli's snoring faded slightly around them, and he was about to close his eyes when Merry's voice broke the stillness:

"Did you hear that, Pippin?"

"I certainly did!" the other Hobbit answered cheerfully. "I wonder what it was?"

"Oh," said Merry, emphasising every syllable, "I am sure it was nothing dangerous. A minor Balrog perhaps?"

"Could be," agreed Pippin, speaking clearly. "It is such a good thing Strider is watching out for us!"

"I wish you were a stone troll," Aragorn grumbled into Legolas' hair.

"No you do not. Never in my very long life have I met a stone troll whom I have wanted to make love to."

"I did not make love to you." Aragorn frowned, puzzled.

"I know," Legolas smiled triumphantly. "You owe me."

**tbc**

**I do like writing the hobbits! Drop me a line, if you please!**


	6. Amon Hen, River Anduin

**READ THIS! Firstly, we have now reached events occurring in the last chapter of the first book, and the first chapter of the second book. These chapters deal with important issues regarding the choices made by the fellowship, Boromir lusting after the Ring etc. I want to point out that I cannot in this fic cover all of these and give them the serious tone they deserve. After all, my job here is turning it all into humour. **

**Secondly, a fair WARNING to those of you who feel that Boromir's death should not be tampered with: I have included it, and this is still (not much has happened since I wrote the previous line) humour!**

**Truly, I am thrilled by all your wonderful feedback and I cannot thank you enough! Many of you also wish to see more of Merry and Pippin. I say: lucky you Tolkien had them join the man, the elf and the dwarf!**

**Chapter 6 – Amon Hen, River Anduin.**

"Behold Amon Hen, the high seats of the old Kings of the West! Behold their thrones of wisdom! Behold this place upon which counsel was given and taken! Behold– "

"Hrm!"

Stopping mid-sentence, Aragorn lowered his wide-spread arms and shot a glance at Legolas who was casually leaning against one of the said high seats.

"Yes?"

The Elf shook his head. "No, nothing, go on!"

Aragorn furrowed his brow but resumed his previous position. "Behold the greatness of this place that fortune and fate has been kind enough to lead us to in these days of darkness and despair! Behold the magnificent work, made by human hands, and yet inspired by a greater force. Behold the–"

"Um…"

A hint of irritation shooting through him, Aragorn turned for a second time to his lover who was now actually sitting on one of the armrests of – if he judged correctly – the Seat of Seeing.

"Yes?"

Legolas brushed away an invisible speck of dirt from his tunic and tilted his head. "You are being awfully dramatic today, love."

_They were on Amon Hen, for heaven's sake!_

"Yes?"

"Only mentioning," Legolas shrugged.

"Drama only heightens the experience," Aragorn informed him firmly.

The Elf only nodded, but for some inexplicable reason he did so with an expression that you would normally present to someone of lesser intelligence. Aragorn decided to ignore it and was about to resume his talking when another voice piped up:

"Strider?" Merry said, currently inspecting one of the stone seats that had been quite battered by the elements. "Why is it broken?"

"Because it is old," Aragorn said gravely.

"How old?"

Aragorn lowered his voice to a deep, serious tone which encompassed all the wisdom in this world. "It is very old."

Merry looked up in a questioning manner. "Yes, but how old?"

_Well, old!_

"It was made in the times of the great Kings," he said.

"Which Kings?"

"The Kings!" Aragorn exclaimed, desperately trying to recall what he had been taught about this place as a child in Elrond's care. "You know… Isildur, Anárion… those ones…" He waved his hands in a vague gesture before him.

"When was that?"

"A very long time ago!"

He spun around, grumbling. This really was too much. If the Halflings were not properly educated in the Shire someone ought to have told him before this questing-madness begun! Then he would have read up on some things. No one could really expect him to remember _everything_? It was not as if he did not have a lot on his mind already! Being the heir of Isildur and all…

Damn Isildur for not putting up a sign with information here, by the way.

Besides, he still enjoyed (or not, as is often the case with pain) a soreness on the back of his head that Sam's cooking devices had generously bestowed upon him as he was being pleasured by Legolas the night before. (There is a note to everyone: do _not _grab the first bundle you come across and shove it underneath your head while lying in an elven boat, waiting for your lover to make love to you! Not even if there is a snoring Dwarf around.) Taking long strides, he swiftly descended the hill and made for the grassy slopes beside Anduin. They had pulled up their boats high on the bank, in this place called Parth Galen, and set up camp beneath a group of low trees. Frustrated he threw himself on the ground, close to the ring of stones that marked the fireplace, only to be joined by Legolas a couple of moments later.

"Maybe you should tone down the drama a little."

"I am hardly being overly dramatic!" Aragorn answered him defensively. "Only when it is appropriate."

"I think we have had our share for today," Legolas told him resolutely.

"What do you mean?"

"The Argonath…?"

"I was not being dramatic then!"

The weird expression on Legolas' face was back. "Seriously love, you do not think that crying out 'Long have I desired to look upon the likenesses of Isildur and Anárion, my sires of old. Under their shadow Elessar, the Elfstone son of Arathorn of the House of Valandil Isildur's son, heir of Elendil, has nought to dread!" like mad, was a tad bit over the top?"

No, this was not the time to admire Legolas' memory. To Aragorn's annoyance, hotness rushed to his face.

"I got a little carried away," he muttered, staring at some pebbles at his feet.

"We noticed." The Elf stretched out on the ground beside him, wriggling around until he found a comfortable position. "Where is that Elfstone of yours by the way?"

"Safely in here," Aragorn patted his chest, indicating one of the many inner pockets his coat carried.

"Are you not supposed to wear it?"

"Nah," the Man shook his head. "Galadriel told me it is more of a symbolic thing. It has been passed down through generations and once it was thought of as an item which would confirm mine and Arwen's awaited commitment. However, as you know, things took a little turn…"

At this, an absolutely dazzling smile appeared on Legolas' lips. "I would say!" He let out a long, content sigh. "I am so proud of myself, setting you on the right track."

"You did not do all the work, you know!"

Aragorn was sure that at least somewhere along the way, he had initiated something. If he could only remember exactly what that had been…

"Hah! You were as active as a Hobbit after lunch!"

"I was not! Not active, I mean. I was not, not active." Aragorn frowned. "I mean I did something."

An amused look was now painted across Legolas' features.

"As effective as a stone troll…"

"That is not true!"

_Now, if he could only be certain of that…_

"As energetic as a sleeping Dwarf…"

Aragorn gave one elven shoulder a push. Unfortunately Legolas did not seem to mind.

"As vigorous as a dead giant spider…"

Afterwards, Aragorn stubbornly claimed that what he had done was done to ensure the longevity of his pride. And as pride was a terribly important trait in a King – even a future King – he deemed his actions utterly necessary.

There was nothing else he could do, so he jumped Legolas and kissed him senseless.

Almost.

Elves were bloody hard (no, not in that way!) to kiss senseless. But he did his best.

He had only begun to enjoy the growing (gods, you are good at associating) passion between them, and the pressing (lay off it!) need for some more contact, when they were rudely interrupted. (Now you are disappointed…)

"AHEM!" a small voice said most discreetly, followed by a complete silence.

As the voice was obviously a hobbit one, the above mentioned, accompanying silence was very disconcerting. Aragorn reluctantly lifted his eyes from Legolas' blue ones and met the astonished gazes of three Hobbits, one Man and one Dwarf.

"Hello," he said civilly, congratulating himself on his skill for tact in precarious situations.

"Merry meet," called out Merry, grinning brightly at his own wit.

_Honestly?_

He would have to look into the Shire education system once he was King.

Legolas was lying perfectly still underneath him, having thrown one leg around his thighs. The tell-tale signs of his condition making themselves known to Aragorn where he lay, trying to make polite conversation.

"So," said Pippin, "are you planning on staying like that for much longer?"

What might be considered as rather unlucky (which would really be removing all the responsibility from the lovers), Aragorn's own state was no better than Legolas'. Things were now getting complicated: if he got to his feet, he would be offering the rest of the Company a sight they might not wish to see, if he stayed put, it was not likely his body would calm down.

"You are sort of lying in our kitchen area," Sam pointed out nervously, the tips of his ears a flaming red.

Ah.

"And I am sure it is dinnertime," said Pippin, looking about him as if Isildur himself would show up confirming his suspicions.

Oh right, Isildur never was the type to give needed information.

In the end, Aragorn gracefully (or so he thought until he saw Legolas do the same) rolled away from his lover and stood, drawing his coat around himself. (And Legolas did not even wear a coat!)

It was not until they were all settled around the newly built-up and crackling fire that Aragorn realised one Hobbit was missing.

"Where is Frodo?" he asked, looking to Sam for the answer.

"He has gone off for a short while," Sam informed him while slicing a loaf of bread. "He is trying to make up his mind, you know. Which way to choose and so forth. If you ask me, I say he is afraid – and rightly so! It is no easy matter, mind you Strider, to carry the fate of Middle-earth on one's shoulders."

_Eh, no. Middle-earth being a pretty large part of the world…_

"I see," he said instead. "We shall await his decision."

Probably it was a bad thing, but he felt rather relieved at this. Frodo was after all the Ring-bearer and it was he who should make the choice. Aragorn would only have to go along with it. They knew that the Enemy was moving; Orcs were on the eastern bank but he suspected they had crossed the waters and were moving towards them. Late last night, Sting, Frodo's sword had gleamed with the palest of blues, signalling that fear was only proper, even if their pursuers were still far away.

He felt the need to say something wise.

"Whatever we do must be done soon. We cannot long halt here. We shall give him an hour, and if he has not returned by then, we shall call for him. Now, let us eat!"

– xxx –

Two helpings later, Pippin sat his eating-bowl down upon the grass and gave Sam an appreciative nod.

"Considering the time and place, you do very well, cooking and such!" he said, content.

Gimli gave a raspy, huffing sound.

It was then Aragorn noted that the Dwarf had not uttered a single word since last night.

"Gimli, is all well?" he inquired.

Being the Leader of the Fellowship also meant making sure everybody was healthy and happy. Legolas being the most important.

The Dwarf only made a sort of nodding move with his head. It really _was _hard to tell with all that facial hair!

"He has a sore throat," Merry informed him. "It is from all that snoring he did last night."

Puzzled, Aragorn regarded his dwarven companion. "But you always snore?"

Gimli shrugged (sort of) but Merry shook his head.

"He temporarily increased it last night. The snoring, that is."

Legolas made an odd sound beside him, a mixture of a sharp intake of breath, a surprised whimper (oh, Aragorn liked those whimpers!) and a giggle.

"Increased..?"

Merry nodded knowingly, matched by Pippin who did the same. "It seemed appropriate, considering…"

"Considering what?"

This was surely getting more and more mysterious every minute! But if it was anything Aragorn was good at, it was solving mysteries. After all, he had nearly deciphered Legolas.

"You could never imagine the extreme amount of nightly noises that are to be heard along this river," Pippin said.

"Some of them more… intense than others," explained Merry.

"Like… the ones we heard last night, right Merry?" the other Hobbit Who Should Have Been Left Behind said.

"Oh, indeed!" The Hobbit Who Ought To Be Severely Poked By Gollum agreed. "Those were something special."

Cursing his heritage, Aragorn felt colour rush to his face. He blamed Isildur for his weakness and prominent blushing abilities. Of course he had no idea if this late Great King had been accomplished at blushing, but who cared?

Beside him, Legolas looked as ridiculously unconcerned as only an Elf could.

"Aaah…" Pippin sighed, a blissful smile on his face. "I _am _warming to those Balrogs."

Luckily, that was also when Aragorn discovered that someone else was missing.

"Where is Boromir?"

"Now where has he got to?" said Sam. "He has been a bit queer lately, to my mind. Staring at my Master an awful lot, he has been doing."

They waited. As there was not much else to do. When Boromir reappeared he looked haggard and grim. He sank down on the grass.

"Where have you been Boromir," Aragorn asked him. "Have you seen Frodo?"

Fellowship statistics. It all came down to survival and well-being in the end.

"Yes, and no." Boromir buried his face in his hands. "I went after him and urged him to come with me to Minas Tirith. I grew angry and he left me." His voice almost broke. "He vanished. He must have put the Ring on. I could not find him. I thought he would return to you."

_Bad news._

"This is bad!" cried out Sam, echoing his thoughts. "Master Frodo would have put no Ring on for nothing! We must find him!"

His words seemed to inspire the rest of the Company and at once, everybody was on their feet, crying out _'Frodo!'_, _'Frodo!'_. In vain, Aragorn tried to calm them down, but only saw them all take off towards the woods, covering the slopes of Amon Hen.

"We shall be scattered and lost!" he groaned, sensing that he would have to work on his organising skills when all this was over. "Boromir, I do not know what part you played in this, but hear me now and go after those two annoy-, um, young Hobbits!"

With that, he sped up the hill in search for Lego-, um, Frodo.

– xxx –

The Horn of Gondor rang out in the forest. Deep and reverberating it resonated among the trees. Aragorn stilled his movements at once and abandoned his search for the Ring-bearer just as quickly. At least he could find one of the Fellowship's members and come to his aid.

In the same moment, other sounds reached his ears: the fierce and dreaded cries of the Orcs. Cursing, he crashed through the trees, drawing his sword and, choosing one over the other, cried out _'Elendil!', 'Elendil!'._

Well, this really was not Isildur's day.

Boromir was seated against a tree-trunk and about him, scattered on the ground, lay more than twenty slain Orcs. The Gondorian appeared to be resting, but the masses of arrows in his chest told another tale.

Sinking down beside him, Aragorn took in the sight, refusing to accept it. Slowly Boromir opened his eyes and even slower he spoke.

"I tried to take the Ring from Frodo. I am sorry. I have paid."

Alright, fair enough. Yet, it did not seem such an important matter at present.

"The Orcs took the Halflings. Bound them. I think they are not dead."

No poking to be expected then. He would have preferred that.

"Aragorn, go to Minas Tirith and save my people!"

_No small demands here…_

"And take care of Legolas."

_Huh?_

Frowning, but minding that he was speaking to a dying man, Aragorn asked him, "Legolas?"

"Yes, cherish your love."

"Okay…"

This was very strange.

"He loves you an awful lot."

"Well," Aragorn stated. Then adding – to clarify things – "I love him too."

Boromir managed a strained nod.

"I had that love once," the Gondorian informed him, in a raspy voice. "She was beautiful, but she married another..."

Aragorn fought the urge to laugh triumphantly. Somehow it did not suit the general mood, or situation.

"Legolas is convinced that you are… (this was _not _the most comfortable conversation he had ever had, no) interested in me."

Boromir shot him a surprised glance despite his condition."You? Aragorn, you are a Man."

"Yes." Aragorn could only agree with him. He might be dying but Boromir was showing signs of being exceptionally perceptive and he deserved to hear it. "But he thinks you _look _at me."

"I like your coat," Boromir said. "If I had survived this Quest, I would have asked you to lend it to me, or rather my tailors, to make me a similar one."

"Oh."

_Where were those Elves when you needed them?_

However, time proved to be on someone else's side (unclear who's), for soon Boromir's breaths became shattering wheezes in his chest and he closed his eyes. Recalling his duties, Aragorn spoke up:

"Which way did they take? Was Frodo there?"

Sadly enough, he was too late in his asking. Boromir's last breath escaped his parted lips and then he was gone.

"Alas," said Aragorn, "thus passes the son of Denethor, Lord of the Tower of Guard. This is a bitter end."

He placed a kiss on his forehead.

Legolas chose that moment to enter the clearing. Gimli was tagging along, short of breath and still wordless. With an explanation already forming on his lips Aragorn saw that for this once, his lover would say nothing about him kissing another.

They would give him to Anduin as they had no time to conduct the proper burial rites. Using his axe, Gimli swiftly cut several branches and from these they constructed a rough bier. Upon this construction they placed Boromir and gathered together all of his slain foes' weapons, spreading them around him. The horn of Gondor was cloven in two, but they placed it on his chest.

Aragorn remained by the waterside, guarding his fallen comrade. Gimli and Legolas hurried back to Parth Galen to collect their vessels and belongings so that they might prepare Boromir for his body's last journey and also begin the search for the Hobbits.

When the Elf and the Dwarf returned, steering one boat each they had a strange tale to tell. These two boats were the only ones left and there had been no signs of Orcs by the riverside. What was more, two distinctive packs were missing. So it seemed that Frodo and his loyal Sam had taken off together.

A brave deed, indeed, one had to admit.

They placed Boromir in one of the remaining boats and arranged the gathered trophies of war around him. Slowly they pushed the vessel with the fallen warrior into the river and saw Rauros accept its gift and carry it away.

Legolas moved close to Aragorn as they stood watching on the shore.

"I am sorry to see it end like this," he admitted in a low voice that had lost its usual, merry quality.

Aragorn turned to face him. The evening sun broke through at that moment and tinted his lover's hair with a golden hue.

"I love you," he whispered.

Legolas leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. "And I you, despite all the mud."

Aragorn wrapped his arms around him and they held each other for many a long moment, until a hoarse mutter from behind a bushy beard broke the stillness.

"You Gods had better stay with me. Seems I am stuck with these two for a while."

**tbc**

**A melancholy ending this time, but I felt it had to be done that way. Hail Boromir son of Denethor!**


	7. Fangorn Forest, eh, West

**Okay, we're doing good! No one has told me they hate me because of my dealings with Boromir's death, which I find is always a positive thing! I'll stop obsessing over that now. After all, he's dead. We're moving on – towards Fangorn! (Boromir didn't want to go there anyway…) Gods, I love writing these notes! Lucky it isn't lethal. Like orc-arrows. Boromir knows that. Oh right, he's dead. **

**Chapter 7 – Fangorn Forest, eh... West**

_By the flowing river the ending came_

_no more shall matters be the same,_

_darkened blood from our swords now drip_

_and broken is our Fellowship!_

_Struck by a thousand arrows he fell_

_and mourning-songs will ever tell,_

_how Gondor's son into death did slip_

_now broken is our Fellowship!_

_With his faithful servant the Bearer rode_

_in the vessel towards the Darkness' abode,_

_hope lies now in an elven ship_

_for broken is our Fellowship!_

_Would that be all the woe which passed_

_but alas! more sorrow has amassed,_

_vicelike is the Orc-hand's grip_

_broken is our Fellowship!_

_Into the foul and dreaded flock_

_were thrown Peregrin and Meriadoc._

_We hunt them running, over stones we skip,_

_for broken is our Fellowship!_

o.O.o

"Le-go-las!"

_For the sake of the Valar: sit down!_

The Elf did not move.

"Will you not join us?"

_Sit down!_

All this standing around would make even Saruman nervous.

The Elf stood perfectly still.

Fine. He chanced a guess that Saruman would grow nervous. If he were to be perfectly honest, he could not know – Aragorn had never met the Wizard in question.

"Do you see something?"

_Of course he saw something: grass, grass, stones, grass and more grass!_

"There is a dark speck moving across the plain."

_Bird._

"I cannot yet make out what it is."

_Too bad._

"If it is so far away that not even your eyes can tell its form, Legolas, then wait for it to come closer."

The Elf spun around and a serious look was in his features.

"Aragorn, that is risky business and you know it. Shall we just sit around and wait for the Orcs to creep up on us and slay us as a pair of rabbits?"

"Three, if you do not mind. There are _three _of us!" Gimli's gruff voice interjected.

"The Orcs are heading for Isengard," Aragorn sighed exasperatedly. "The white mark of Saruman was upon their shields and helmets."

He flung his arm out in a rather wide gesture. "And," he added, "Isengard is _that _way!"

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Oh, _that_ way?"

"Yes, you know… west!" Aragorn concluded.

"'West…'" muttered Legolas as he turned back to gaze over the grasslands of Rohan.

The sun was sinking low in the – west, and the Orc-track was blending into the growing darkness. They had decided, against their own hearts, to rest at night, knowing well that their prey did not. The decision had been made though, after the find of Pippin's elven brooch several feet away from the main trail. It was too perilous to continue at night when such discoveries might easily be overlooked.

Aragorn had hoped to use this time to go over his records, but there was no peace to be had when Legolas was constantly standing up or pacing around. Elves might look as cool and calm as a frozen lake, but they sure knew how to cause stress in others!

Not that _every _type of elven-related stress was negative, but those situations mainly required both of them standing up… or sitting down… or laying back… Surely no such excitement was provoked by Legolas standing while Aragorn was sitting down, combined with the fact that they did not even touch.

_So sit down!_

Well, not because he wanted to… do… something with Legolas! They could not! There were no trees to hide them. Only high grass…

Come to think of it…

A grouchy muttering erupted from beside him.

_Ah, Gimli._

No activities then.

"Please Legolas, will you not join us?" he tried one more time. (All innocence he was, mind you!)

"The dark form is drawing closer."

"SIT DOWN LADDIE!"

Aragorn would have reeled backwards at Gimli's explosion if it had not been for the memory of Pippin's unsuccessful attempt at staggering on the grass of Lórien.

Legolas promptly sat down.

Gimli gave a low, contented huff.

Aragorn stared.

He did that for some time, until he found he had nothing whatsoever to say. He might have commented on the approaching potential Orcs, but he felt somehow that one frightening event was enough to concentrate on for the time being.

Warily Aragorn regarded his companions. Gimli sat running his thumb over his axe's blade as if he genuinely desired to cut both their heads off (Aragorn's and Legolas' that was, not his own – that would simply be idiotic). It was really quite unfair as Aragorn could recall nothing faulty in his behaviour. Granted, he had been slightly inattentive to the Dwarf, wheezing and puffing far behind him as they sped across the lands, but then he had not been made King yet and so he had not had the opportunity to look into the dwarven health plan. Surely Gimli understood that?

Legolas for his part, was sulking. Obviously. Idly he toyed with the grass, letting his long fingers glide through it, twined it, and explored its texture. He let it graze smoothly across his skin, filled his palm with the strands, and caressed them dreamily…

Definitely sulking.

For some inexplicable reason though, it made Aragorn – for the very first time, it might be added (which is probably a good thing) – desperately wish there was a way for him to transform into grass.

However, the people of Gondor (yes, yes, _and _Arnor) would most likely prefer a ruler who looked more or less human, so there was nothing to do but to admit defeat.

And he was _not _jealous of the grass.

When all that had been established (in his mind), he dragged forth his documents. Apart from a number of _lembas _crumbs that could easily be brushed off, they were relatively unscathed. And if you ignored the torn edges and the smudged ink, they looked practically untouched. One should always take care of one's possessions, Aragorn nodded to himself.

He had not finished reading the first line before Legolas leaned in closer.

"Is that your report?"

_No, that is Gollum._

"Yes."

"How is it coming along?"

_Oh, brilliantly! Gollum is such a creative little chap._

"Fine."

"May I have a look?"

_No._

"Naturally."

'_Naturally?!'_

Legolas took the stack of papers Aragorn passed to him. The Elf skimmed through the written lines, frowns passing across his face now and then, like bumblebees in a summer sky. Vaguely Aragorn wondered how Elrond would react if he simply handed in a report consisting of blank papers, decorated only by a handful of small drawings of bumblebees… He might consider it a bit odd.

"Aragorn?"

"Yes?"

"Which letter does the word 'stream' end with?"

Aragorn furrowed his brow. "'M'..?"

"Correct." Legolas nodded.

"And 'Anduin'? Which letter?"

"An 'n'?"

"It is so," the Elf agreed, "and yet it seems that you harbour an extensive amount of insecurity concerning these particular letters."

"I have what?"

"You mix them up," stated Legolas.

"I do not mix them up! Give me that!"

Aragorn reached for the parchment Legolas was currently obsessing over, but his lover pulled back.

"Oh, no," he shook his head, "we shall do this properly. Now, in regard to what we have already determined, what fault do you find within these lines: '_By boat and stream,_ _a flooding current,_ _on the long-winding river_, o_f Anduin.'_?"

The Man stared at him blankly.

Legolas gave a drawn-out, low groan. "'Stream' and 'Anduin', Aragorn?"

_What – what! – now?_

"They are both perfectly reasonable words!" he argued finally.

"They do not rhyme!" the Elf cried out, waving the lines in front of his eyes in a way that was most unlike him.

Alright, so maybe they did not rhyme properly, but anyone knew it was not easy writing high poetry after having been blindfolded by a scheming blond marchwarden-Elf-character. Especially when all _he_ was after was your partner! In fact, those Elves were always the most annoying ones to have around.

"Hm," he said.

Legolas stayed his frantic movements and blinked. When that did not help, he turned to the Dwarf for support. "Gimli?"

Said Dwarf lifted his gaze from his axe and surveyed them from underneath bushy eyebrows. "Elf."

"Elf?" Aragorn echoed him questioningly.

"Yes, Elf. I agree with the Elf." He returned his attention to the blade.

_Bloody Elves! Who liked them anyway?_

…

Never mind.

Legolas handed back the papers to Aragorn with an exultant smile. "See, love," he purred, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek, "there you go. The rest was fine, mostly readable as well."

"Mostly?" grumbled Aragorn, not sure he would have encouraged this change in mood in his lover if had been given a say in the matter.

"Smudges," Legolas informed him. "They seem to be concentrated to the lines in which Haldir is mentioned."

Quickly Aragorn looked up but the Elf presented an innocent expression. He meant to explain this peculiar fact, probably by stretching the truth slightly, but he was given no chance as Legolas patted his arm.

"Catch some sleep."

He did not argue.

o.O.o

No, it had not been Orcs. Surprisingly (or not) the dark speck Legolas had spotted turned out to be the Eastfold Riders of Rohan (hence the lack of surprise, since they were _in _Rohan), lead by Éomer son of Éomund.

After some initial quarrelling mainly due to the fact that they were three strangers in elven cloaks suddenly emerging from the grass amidst the Riders, crying out "What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?" matters had been settled.

Alright, to be fair, it was Aragorn who had done the crying-out part, and he figured that if one were to cry out something, it might just as well be serious and demanding. Besides, Gimli and Legolas were only standing around, saying nothing as they were almost passed by the swift horses.

And, okay, things had not been solved _that _easily. Éomer, young as he was, had already learnt to be suspicious of everything and everyone. It had taken some persistence from all of them to finally convince him they were indeed who they claimed to be. (That was after Gimli threatened to behead the Marshal with his axe, and after Legolas volunteered to assist him.)

Frankly, Aragorn had had no choice. In the end, he had swept Andúril from its sheath and called out for all to hear: "Elendil!" (He had grown quite fond of saying that.)

Realising though, this might cause some surprise (Elendil had after all, not returned from the dead just like that), he added: "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, and am called Elessar, the Elfstone, Dúnadan, the heir of Isildur Elendil's son of Gondor. Here is the Sword that was Broken and is forged again! (Breeeathe…) Will you aid me or thwart me? Choose swiftly!"

Hah! There!

He ignored the staring from Gimli and Legolas.

When his heartbeat had returned to normal and he breathed properly again, he noticed the commotion his words had created. From what he could see, not all of the Riders were convinced this was true, and if it was – what on earth did the heir to Gondor's throne do on the grasslands of Rohan, on foot, in the company of an Elf and a Dwarf?

"We are hunting Orcs," he explained.

All settled.

'Thwart' was a brilliant word by the way, he decided. Elrond would be thrilled if he knew his foster son used it with such ease.

However, things had taken a turn for the worse when Éomer let them know he and his men had fought the Orcs, slayed them and burnt every one of their foul bodies; they had come across nothing that might be considered hobbit, be it a cloak or a living being. The Marshal asked them to abandon their quest and instead come with him to Meduseld, the high house in Edoras where King Théoden, his uncle, sat. (Or he would kill them, or something. Aragorn was still slightly dizzy from his speech.) Legolas made a sort of snorting noise.

Ultimately, the comrades' stubbornness prevailed (Aragorn was sure he heard a contented elven _'hm!'_) and they were let two horses, Hasufel and Arod. Absentmindedly, he made some promise of travelling to Edoras to let his sword shine together with Éomer's on the battlefield some day, after the search for the Hobbits had come to and end. Most of his attention was focused on Legolas shooting the Marshal of the Riders a strange glance and then offering Gimli a seat behind him on Arod. The Dwarf would do best, keeping a proper distance, Aragorn thought as he sat up on Hasufel.

o.O.o

Of the Orcs only a large pile of smoking ashes was left. In an open glade, among the first trees of Fangorn Forest had been piled up helmets, mail, cloven shields and swords and other gear of war, and a particularly ugly head of a great goblin was set on a stake for all to behold. The white mark of Saruman was still visible on its crushed helmet. Amongst all of this they searched for clues as to what might have befallen Merry and Pippin, but naught did they discover.

"We can do no more," sighed Gimli, "I would guess that the burned bones of the Hobbits are now mingled with the Orcs'. A dreadful destiny for two such cheery spirits!"

Indeed, it seemed so.

A battle ranged within Aragorn as he took in the sight of the smouldering blackened remains of his foes. Yes, the Hobbits had been annoying enough with their constant cheekiness and questioning, but he had never wished this fate and ending upon them. Not truly! So it was not without a heavy heart he regarded this awful grave. Too harsh he had been. Silently, Aragorn vowed that in his future days he would do his best to treat any Hobbit kinder.

"The end is dark, but we shall not depart from this place yet," he said quietly. "In any case we must here await the morning-light."

A little away from the burning place, underneath a tree, they set up camp and Gimli lit a small fire. The night was cold and they had only brought one blanket each, so they drew close and huddled together. Legolas seized the opportunity and placed his hand on Aragorn's thigh underneath his blanket. Under other circumstances, the contact – the hand settled too far away from the Man's knee for it to be completely chaste – might have provoked a series of interesting reactions, but the general mood was too dampened for such activities. It felt comforting nonetheless, and Aragorn gratefully leaned closer to the Elf so that their shoulders and upper arms touched. If Gimli noticed, he did not say.

They sat in silence for a while until Legolas looked up and exclaimed, "Look! The tree is glad of the fire!"

Both Aragorn and Gimli had to agree that what he had said appeared to be accurate. It was as if the wide-spread branches were bent closer to the ground, stretching, as if they wished to share in the warmth provided by the flames. The brown leaves stood out stiff, rubbing together like numerous pairs of hands taking comfort in the heat.

"What do the tales of Fangorn tell, Aragorn?" asked Legolas. "Do you know? I have heard only of the Onodrim, that Men call Ents, which dwelt here long ago. Fangorn is old, even as the Elves would reckon it."

Aragorn shook his head. "Stories I have heard, but I know not their value. Many are no doubt fables that Men have made as true knowledge fades. If an Elf of the woodlands does not know, how shall a Man answer?"

"Let Fangorn rest! I shall not enter for anything," Gimli said. "But I shall take first watch."

Allowing this, Aragorn and Legolas lay down side by side; it took some shuffling until Legolas was satisfied with the arrangement. In the end, Aragorn had an armful of Elf and only half a blanket covering him, but just as he was about to complain his lover flashed him such a glorious smile, he found he had some difficulties wording his thoughts.

Legolas snuggled closer and Aragorn closed his eyes to the heartfelt request that floated out from somewhere underneath his hair: "Please _meleth_, when we come… to Edoras, that is, do have a bath!"

o.O.o

The night had grown older when Gimli's cry woke him up suddenly. Aragorn shot up from the ground, brutally but unintentionally (not that the Elf seemed to care) shoving Legolas aside. Accompanied by a couple of carefully selected elven curses, Aragorn's eyes strained in the darkness, trying to make out what it was that had caused the Dwarf's reaction.

On the edge of the firelight stood a bent old figure, wrapped in a great cloak and leaning heavily on his staff. His wide-brimmed hat effectively covered his eyes, and Aragorn suspected that was definitely intentional. The old man was as silent and unmoving as a sleeping rock. (Provided of course that rocks did sleep, and that they lay still while doing so. Aragorn had never encountered a rock that had done otherwise – as rocks were not very prone to conversation – and so he figured this metaphor did work. Any reports on alternative rock-behaviour can be sent to: Aragorn son of Arathorn, c/o Elrond Half-elven, Lord of Imladris c.t. 'Rivendell' _hidden valley_, Library, Imladris c.t. 'Rivendell', West of Misty Mountains, East of Ford of Bruinen.)

Anyway.

Aragorn leapt to his feet, meaning to drag Andúril from its sheath once more, but changed his mind. Instead he queried, "Well."

This had no effect on the old man.

_Why did things have to be so complicated?_

"Father, what can we do for you?" he added, secretly hoping this elderly person understood he did not mean 'father' literally. It had seemed a good idea at the time (which was not so very long ago as you can plainly see from above documented lines).

The old man was gone.

_Did no one appreciate his efforts?!_

The night was very dark. It did not help.

In that moment another cry pierced the air:

"The horses!"

Legolas was staring towards the place where they had left their horses grazing.

_Fabulous._

Were horses included in the Fellowship statistics?

Long moments passed. A chill wind wound through the boughs of the Fangorn trees, but nevertheless did silence reign supreme.

"They are gone," said Aragorn finally, stating the obvious.

One by one they slumped down beside the fire.

"If you wish to know what I think," said Gimli in a low voice, fixing the others with a firm stare, the flames casting an odd light on his bearded face, "I think it was Saruman. He has gone off with our horses, or scared them away, and here we are. There is more trouble coming to us, mark my words!"

"I mark your words," nodded Aragorn, regretting he had not made use of Andúril after all. "We are in peril here, night or day. Yet in the meantime there is nothing we can do but to rest. I will take watch now."

Gimli huffed his consent and lay down, close to the fire. Aragorn heaved a sigh and tugged at one of the blankets Legolas was currently occupying.

"Leave me at least one," he grumbled.

The Elf complied and tossed him one which he wrapped around his back. Legolas scrambled over – still in that annoyingly elegant way – and settled himself against Aragorn's chest, drawing the human arms around him and spreading the second blanket oven his lithe body.

"We shall have to travel on foot to Rohan now, I presume?"

"Yes," Aragorn confirmed.

After several moments, Legolas spoke up again in a thoughtful voice:

"Do you think they like people being clean in Meduseld?"

"What?"

"Do you think that certain… individuals of the court prefer others to have washed? Travellers, for example?"

"Eh… I could not say, Legolas."

The Elf nodded slowly as if reaching an important decision.

"I think you ought to refrain from that bath, love."

**tbc**

**Oh, this was a tricky one! Love you all!**


	8. Fangorn Forest and Edoras, Rohan

**Hello my friends! You all read the books, yes? Or at least you saw the films? Goodie! Then you don't need all of those long-winded explanations and tedious accounts of what happened after the mines and Amon Hen and such? No? Excellent. Because _somebody _(no names mentioned, but I blame the Ranger) didn't go into detail regarding that in these records. I beg for your forgiveness. **

**Chapter 8 – Fangorn Forest and Edoras, Rohan**

"Hrrmph!"

_Sschwooossh…_

"Hrrmph!"

_Sschwooooosssh…_

"Hrrrrmph!"

_Ssschwooooooosssh… ssschhsss…_

"Gimli!"

Aragorn whirled around and flung his arms out in great vexation. "Would you _please _stop arguing with the forest!"

The Dwarf shot him a glare. "Oh, I do not think you would be so hasty to end the quarrelling, Master Ranger, if you had unwillingly been chosen the main target of these grumpy old trees!"

"And what exactly do they say about you?"

"I can endure much I will tell you!" Gimli waved his axe before him menacingly, "but comparing my beard –_my beard –_to those mossy, tattered shards of lichen hanging about and tripping us all over when we last expect is greatly – _GREATLY _– abominable!"

"Put down your axe, Master Dwarf," Aragorn warned him harshly. "I shall not have you die because of your own stupidity. These woods would not hesitate to strike you down, should you wield it thoughtlessly."

"It would not be thoughtlessly done, I assure you," the Dwarf wowed, but he lowered his axe nonetheless.

"Good." Aragorn gave a content nod and turned back around. "Besides, I am not sure that lichen can be mossy."

"What!?" Gimli trotted (as Aragorn was standing with his back to the Dwarf in this moment and therefore could not see this particular type of movement, he gathered that he – the Dwarf – was trotting. Or scrambling, or something else that did not go by noiselessly) up to stand behind him, nearly tripping over a suddenly raised-up root (an occurrence which was obvious due to the accompanying grunt, curse and '_thump!')_. "Of course it can be! We see it all around us."

Aragorn glanced at the nearby trees. "Are you sure the moss and the lichen are not simply entwined? And are really two different forms of… ehm, mess?"

"You are no tree-expert, lad!" Gimli snorted.

"Neither are you, if I remember correctly."

"That may be so, but it does not mean I am in the wrong! Where is that Wood Elf of yours? I am sure he would agree with me."

As good a question as any.

"Legolas!" Aragorn called out and placed a hand on the hilt of Andúril. One should always be ready.

As it happened though, he found no use for his sword.

"Over here…" came a reply from some feet away.

Squinting, Aragorn peered through the trees ahead of him. Legolas was reclining on one the lower branches of what appeared to be an ancient, gnarled oak, his back resting against the trunk and the colour of his garments blending effectively with the sort of brownish-greenish-greyishy of the tree. The Elf wore an expression of utter boredom.

"Are you two done?"

"Almost so, yes," said Aragorn.

"Can we go one searching for the Hobbits now?" Legolas asked. (Obviously weary of Gimli's stubbornness and constant muttering.)

_Hobbits. Right._

"Yes!" Aragorn strode onward, past the oak and his lover, determined to show some resolution and healthy action.

The soft _'thud' _told him Legolas has dropped down onto his feet and soon the puffing-cursing-murmuring-stampingy noise that seemed to surround Gimli these days followed. Aragorn cleared a path before them as the ground began to rise. Using a fallen branch to sweep away the heavy undergrowth, he made sure there were no holes in the ground. Deeming the place was safe enough, he continued. The air grew fresher and lighter to breathe as the three companions climbed what appeared to be a shelf of rock overlooking a great part of the forest.

"We have journeyed a long way round," sighed Legolas. "Had we left the River on the second or third day and struck west, we could all have come here safe together."

"But we did not wish to come to Fangorn," said Gimli.

Before another forest related argument could erupt, Aragorn decided it was high time to intervene. "Hold!" he cried out.

The Dwarf and the Elf turned their surprised faces to him. They did not look too prone to argument, to tell the truth.

"What?" grunted Gimli as Legolas' eyebrows first shot towards the tree tops and then furrowed.

"This!" Aragorn shoved the branch into the Dwarf's hands.

Gimli accepted the unexpected gift silently. On Legolas' face was painted a look of deepest understanding, albeit unpleasantly mingled with the strange I-am-looking-at-you-as-if-you-lack-some-intelligence-expression from Amon Hen. Aragorn stared defiantly back.

"Anyhow, love…" Legolas began carefully, "here we are." He slowly let his eyes wander away from Aragorn's. "And nicely caught in the net," he added grimly. "Look!"

Both Man and Dwarf stared in the same direction.

"Look at what? I have no elf-eyes."

Aragon was about to agree with Gimli when he too saw what Legolas had spotted.

_Damn that bent, bearded, mysterious, hooded, old man!_

Yes, it was the elderly chap from the day before. Aragorn did not go about cursing just anyone. No kind words of welcome came to him as he regarded the figure, leaning heavily on his rough staff. Somehow he felt all determination and willpower desert his mind. Aragorn stood unmoving and silent, unable to do naught but watch.

"Saruman!" hissed Gimli, as he carefully placed the branch he was still holding on the ground beside him. "Bend your bow Legolas! Do not let him speak for he shall put a spell on you! Shoot him!"

Legolas bent his bow but fitted no arrow to the string. Like the Man, he stood still, staring at the ragged, grey figure beneath them.

"What are you waiting for? What is the matter with you?" Gimli was jumping up and down in a very inactive, dwarvish fashion.

"Watch and wait," said Aragorn solemnly.

Then the old man moved.

His pace quickened as he strode towards the path leading up to the rock shelf. "Well met indeed my friends!" he cried out to them, and Aragorn thought he glimpsed a gleam leaping from eyes, hidden in shadows underneath the brim of the old man's hat. (The hat was placed atop the hood previously mentioned somewhere. Just clearing things up.) "I wish to speak to you! Shall you come down, or shall I climb up?" Without waiting, he began to climb.

"Now! Stop him Legolas!" cried Gimli.

Absentmindedly, Aragorn noted how incredibly important his lover had suddenly become to the Dwarf.

"Did I not say I wished to speak to you?" the old man bellowed. "Put away your bow, Master Elf! And you, Master Dwarf, take your hand from that axe-shaft!"

Legolas dropped his bow. Gimli's hand left his weapon. Frozen in their places they watched as their captor climbed the last steps and finally stood before them, a blaze of white shimmering briefly behind his rags before it was once more concealed by the grey.

"Well met, I say again!" The old man peered at them from under his hood (and his hat). "And what may you be doing in these parts? An Elf, a Man and a Dwarf all clad in elvish wear. Here is a story to be told, I suspect."

"Might we have your name?" Aragorn queried warily.

This caused a long, soft laugh to escape the bent figure before them."My name… Have you not guessed it already?"

"Saruman!" erupted Gimli, the unseen constraints holding him back loosened and he flew towards the old man with his axe in his hand. "Saruman! I shall make a dint in your hat that even a Wizard will find it hard to deal with!"

Unfortunately (or not, as you will see) Dwarves are not very quick, at least not when compared to a Wizard. (Well, it depends on the situation. In a drinking contest for example, a Dwarf may empty five pints of strong ale in all the time it may take an average Wizard to order even his first. In the memorable drinking competition held in Dale in III, 'Third Age' that is, 2436, the Dwarf Boldor, later 'of the Barrel' or 'knower of the Barrel' or even 'long-drinker of the Barrel-ale, may his stomach always accept more' drank down fourteen pints of exquisitely dark ale in only five minutes, leaving his Wizard opponent long behind. The fate of Boldor is a long and boring tale as could be expected from the most problematic and drawn-out epithet noted above. Bless his soul. And his stomach.)

Upon this attack from Gimli, the old man sprang up and leaped to the top of a large rock, upon which he stood, towering above them. His hood (and his hat) and his grey garments had vanished and a blinding white radiance was all about him. Even as Aragorn dropped his sword, Legolas cry rang out in the forest.

"Mithrandir!"

And so it was.

Who would ever have guessed?

– xxx –

They did a lot of that talking. Alright, Gandalf said the most, but he did ask his friends to relay to him what had happened after his fall into darkness at the bridge in Khazad-dûm. Which they did and all in all, and to make a rather long story considerably shorter, this is some of what they spoke of:

Meriadoc and Peregrin escaped the now dead Orcs and ventured into Fangorn Forest. They met Treebeard. (There was some confusion at this point as Legolas was the only one who was ready to believe that the Ents – or the '_Onidr… Ondir… Odniro…_ whatever' were really still walking the earth of this earth.) Anyhow, Treebeard had roused his fellow Ents but not even Gandalf could guess their choice of action.

Saruman had proved to be somewhat of a double traitor as he both served the Darkest of Dark Lords, but was also assembling his own army and was in pursuit of the One Ring – the same One Ring that the Darkest of Dark Lords was after. And this (Darkest) Dark Lord was probably thinking that the small company guarding his treasure were all travelling to Minas Tirith, so when Aragorn told Gandalf of the breaking of the Fellowship, and Frodo's choice to go with Sam into Mordor, their Wizard friend was as content as could be. "Isengard cannot go to war against Mordor before Saruman has laid hands upon the Ring," Gandalf mused. "The old man you saw last night was indeed Saruman (Gimli offered a pleased huff at this) but he did not remain here for long. He does not know if the bones of the Hobbits lie amongst those of his burned soldiers. He does not even know if they were captured to begin with. He is in peril."

Also, Gandalf had – surprise! – not met his death along with the Balrog (or he had, but Aragorn found the concept a bit confusing) and had returned to them until things were settled. (Or something.)

Gandalf told them of the winged creature Legolas had shot down at Sarn Gebir nights ago. "He was a Nazgûl, one of the Nine, who ride now upon winged steeds. Soon their terror will overshadow the last armies of our friends. But they have not yet been allowed to cross the river." It sounded depressing enough.

Finally, when they were all in awe of at least something, Aragorn asked about the next move they should make.

"Do we go to find our friends and to see Treebeard?" He suspected that Legolas would never stop taunting him about knowing more of the Ents than he did.

To his disappointment, Gandalf said no. "No, you must go to Edoras and to King Théoden's halls, for you are needed there. War is upon us and the light of Andúril must be uncovered in battle. There is war in Rohan and worse evil: it goes ill with Théoden." It was a rather long 'no'.

Legolas spoke up at this point, his voice tinted with dislike. "Must we truly go to Rohan?

Gandalf's still quite bushy eyebrows took a flight to the heavens. (Aragorn guessed that not even the extensive fire of the Balrog had managed to lessen the eyebrows' dominating form.) "Why, Legolas, do you not wish to accompany us?"

The Elf's only response was a muttered something about 'other willing company' but Gandalf pressed the matter no further. Instead he shot a sharp glare in Aragorn's way.

"What?"

_His _reply was a muttered something about 'not taking care of one's beloved' which Aragorn chose to ignore. Even if he had seen the logic in it, he would have made no answer, he decided.

Beside him, Gimli followed this peculiar discussion with his brow furrowed and supplementary, gruff puffs, but when it stood clear to him that he understood as little as Aragorn did himself, he muttered something about inconceivable people of some sorts.

This proved too much for Aragorn.

"Enough!" he cried out, stumbling to his feet. "Lead the way!"

Gandalf looked long at him and then with a questioning look, he glanced over at Legolas and Gimli who shrugged and shook their heads discreetly.

"He has been a bit off," said the Dwarf quietly, "lately."

"Over-dramatic," the Elf whispered.

"And yet, short-spoken," Gimli pondered out loud.

"Very grumpy," Legolas supplied.

"Aha," said Gandalf.

"It has been trying," stated both Dwarf and Elf with a sigh.

– xxx –

Over the lands, Gandalf and Gimli were carried upon a wondrous horse, Shadowfax, the chief of the _Mearas_ and the lord of horses. He had returned Hasufel and Arod to Aragorn and Legolas and the small company had ridden long and hard. Now they had come at last to the wide wind-swept walls and the gates of Edoras.

Golden-haired Men clad in bright mail sprang up as the companions neared them, their spears glittering in the morning light.

"Stay, strangers here unknown!" One of the Men called out. "It is the will of Théoden King that none should enter his gates, save those who know our tongue and are our friends!" His eyes came to a rest on Gandalf and they narrowed. "Say, are you not a Wizard, a spy sent from Saruman perhaps, or phantoms of his craft?"

Aragorn fought the urge to roll his eyes. Fine, this was a time of war but _come on_! They were here to help! He considered using the same technique that had before proved so efficient but was hindered by Legolas who reigned in Arod and leaned closer.

"We will have none of that 'I am the heir of Elendil', now love," he said in a low whisper. "Let Gandalf speak for us."

_It is not like I would endanger us!_

Biting off a harsh reply, Aragorn settled for glaring at his lover who only held his gaze and replayed his words silently with his eyes. A most unnerving thing to be subject to, it was.

But it was not enough. Ignoring Legolas' opinion, Aragorn cleared his throat.

"We are no phantoms! Has not Éomer, the Third Marshal of the Mark, returned to you and given warning of our coming?"

A snort and an elven curse followed his words. However, the Man he had addressed looked troubled.

"Of Éomer I have naught to say," he began uncertainly and then appeared to choose a path with his words, steering away from this subject. "Maybe your coming was not wholly unlooked for. It is but two nights ago that Wormtongue told us that no strangers would be allowed inside these gates."

Judging by Gandalf's reaction, Aragorn concluded that this Wormtongue-person was not the Wizard's greatest friend amongst the living. Nor the dead, as it seemed.

"My business is not with Wormtongue!" Gandalf roared in a manner that would make anyone respect him sooner rather than later. "And I am in haste! Go to your King and tell him that Gandalf has come. Tell him I have come in the company of Aragorn son of Arathorn, the heir of the Kings (said heir of the Kings sent a triumphant look to Legolas who glowered back). Here also is Legolas the Elf (who glowered even more then) and Gimli the Dwarf (who looked up and nodded as if in complete agreement). We would have speech with your master!"

The guard did not look convinced as he left them in the keeping of his comrades but upon his return, he nodded briskly.

"Follow me," he ordered. "You have been given leave to enter, but you must leave you weapons on the threshold. The doorwardens will keep them."

The ground in Edoras seemed to rise constantly upwards, Aragorn noted. A well-built path, laden with smooth stones broke off at times into flights of low stairs. This path they followed, passing wooden houses and a clear stream that trickled beside them. Atop the hill stood a high platform above a green terrace. From this, another, a proper stair, went, to end before a great pair of doors, guarded by a set of carved stone seats, upon which guards sat, their drawn swords laid upon their knees. The wind was ever present in Edoras.

One of the Men, golden-braided as the rest of them, stood as they approached. "I am Háma, the Doorward of Théoden. Here I must bid you to lay aside your weapons before you enter."

It took a lot of grumbling.

Aragorn was deeply unwilling to part from Andúril, but it turned out that Háma had no sympathy for him. The blade-that-was-broken-but-had-now-been-reforged was treated like every other piece of sharp metal around. That meant keeping it far from the King, and possibly that Wormtongue-person as well. It was not an easy riddle to read since he (?) had not shown his (?) face yet. (The Wormtongue-person, that was.)

Legolas was equally upset having to hand over his Lórien bow and his long silver-handled knife along with the quiver of arrows he carried. He forbid any Man to touch them and was promised they would be left alone.

Gimli, for his part, looked like he would have preferred chopping every human head off with the blade of his axe before giving it away for safekeeping (which would not have been needed then, since there would be no other Men around to guard them). In the end though, he was convinced by Háma to lay it down beside Andúril on the ground. "They could keep each other company, I suppose," the Dwarf muttered.

"Your staff," Háma now visibly hesitated, turning to Gandalf. "Forgive me, but that too has to be left at the doors."

"Foolishness!" said the Wizard. "Prudence is one thing, but discourtesy is another. I am old and I shall stay outside if I am not allowed to bring it inside. Théoden shall have to hobble out here himself to speak with me."

As Háma warred with himself, Legolas nudged Aragorn who jumped high.

"Say something!" he urged in low tones.

"What?" Aragorn hissed back.

"I do not know! You think of something, heir of Elendil!"

"What?!"

"How should I know, I am but a mere, random Elf…" Legolas glared at him.

Aragorn racked his mind to come up with this requested 'something'.

"Well!" he said, drawing everyone's attention. Legolas closed his eyes.

"You would not part an old man from his support? Come, let us enter." he said.

Háma eyed him warily but pondered this. At last he nodded. "The staff in the hand of a Wizard may be more than a prop for age," he said slowly. "But I believe – or I do wish to believe – that you are friends and have come to us in these dark times. Maybe you are even folk worthy of honour."

Aragorn found that he was nodding too, albeit in a more frenetic way.

Háma gave them one last, long and lingering, searching look.

"You may go in."

They thick bars were lifted from the doors which were swung inwards. They weighed heavily on their hinges, sending out a most displeased squeal as the motion forced them wider open. Dark but warm air floated towards the companions and Aragorn stepped inside cautiously.

He was standing at the entrance of a long hall, upheld by many pillars that reminded him faintly of Moria. This place though, had a dim light streaming into it from windows set in the eastern wall. The floor was paved with stone; here and there carved runes showed in the semi-darkness. Woven cloths covered the walls, decorated with scenes of battle and many others of different types.

Aragorn took another step, and another, and soon all of them were making their way forward. In the middle of the hall a great wood-fire was burning and its light drew them closer. While still concealed by the shadows though, Aragorn felt a hand settle on the low of his back.

"Well done, love," Legolas' voice whispered so quietly he could barely make out the words.

He grunted out an indistinguishable reply.

"Oh, sulking again are we?"

Aragorn stopped in the darkness and let Gandalf and Gimli pass.

"I am not sulking."

"No, you never are, if I am to take your word for it."

Legolas slipped around his side and stepped up to face him, making it very hard (again, no, not that type of 'hard') indeed to remain so utterly grim and severe.

"There now." The Elf leaned in even closer, brushing his lips across Aragorn's. "Let us wipe away that dour look, shall we?"

That sort of did it.

Aragorn rapidly wound his arms around his Elf and pressed his mouth to the willing one before him. Legolas opened up at once, welcoming Aragorn into the hot heat. Wasting no time at all, the Man thrust his tongue inside, eliciting a minor, and well concealed, moan from his lover.

Legolas kissed back forcefully, sliding his hands over Aragorn's back, beckoning him closer still. Aragorn greedily swallowed every soft groan that escaped the Elf and set his own hands exploring the body so intimately nestled against his own.

'_Thump!'_

Even in his current state, Aragorn knew that sound all too well. He pulled away from a very disappointed Legolas only to meet the angry stare of Gandalf, a stare glimmering unsettlingly even in the shadows.

"You two!" the Wizard hissed. "You two are supposed to present yourself – separately – to Théoden King any second!"

Legolas managed to shrink back but still keep his chin high. Aragorn only blushed furiously.

"You shall come with me now! _Now!_ And keep your respective tongues within your own mouths until you have a room to share and a door to lock!" He began walking, but only to glance back with a firm look to check that they were both following him. "_If _we are so lucky that the King may be freed from his binds and welcome us to his halls by his own will!"

They strode onward, past the fire and stopped in front of a dais with three steps. A great gilded chair was placed in the middle of it. Aragorn saw a Man so bent and withered by age seated in it, he would easily have thought him dead. A thin golden circlet was set upon his brow and long white hair covered his stooping shoulders. His beard was long enough to rest upon his knees. He was not alone. A woman clad in white stood behind the chair and a wizened figure of a Man sat upon the steps, his face pale and his eyes heavy-lidded. Silence reigned supreme.

When Gandalf spoke, his voice rang out in the hall, strong and reverberating.

"Hail Théoden son of Thengel! I have returned. For behold! the storm comes, and now all friends should gather together, lest each singly be destroyed!"

And so it began.

**tbc**

**A/N: More dialogue than usual has been taken directly from the book this time. This is because there IS a lot of important talking going on in those chapters and I needed the exact essence of the words – and Tolkien has a way with words. In one way, it feels like cheating, but I desperately hope you do see that I have tried my best to make it my own story nonetheless! **


	9. Helm's Deep, Rohan

**Okay, so with the risk of making you disappointed: the Aragorn-falling-off-the-cliff-and-is-kissed-back-to-life-by-Arwen (or in fanfiction, whomever you prefer)-scene does not appear in the book and will therefore not be included here. But if this grieves you too much, I'll try my best to put Aragorn in some awfully dangerous danger so that he can return to Legolas who'll say something appropriate. And if this still doesn't do it for you, I'll add a dream sequence. Deal? On another note, they rarely sleep in the book! They just go on and on, from Edoras to Helm's Deep and then the fighting begins! Insane… But impressive, I must say. **

**Chapter 9 – Helm's Deep, Rohan**

Atop Hasufel, Aragorn stifled a yawn. He was quite pleased with himself. Not for stifling the yawn (almost anyone could do that), but because he had been right about Gandalf's sentiments towards the Wormtounge-person, or Gríma, as he was actually called. He had proved a nasty piece of work, to be frank. Heavy-lidded eyes, ghostly pale and with a tongue that spoke ill of everyone except himself. A tongue that whispered and hissed in Théoden's ear, all that Saruman desired him to believe. Distasteful behaviour, indeed! Aragorn shuddered.

But then Gandalf had done that great commanding powerful thingy he is so good at, and Gríma was out of the way, and Éomer was restored to his rightful place, next to the King, on the dais in Meduseld, the Golden Hall in Edoras. (Or, as it was in reality, on a weary horse next to Aragorn, but the point was the same.) Gríma had been allowed to flee for his life and he would probably ride straight to Saruman, to fall at his feet and tell his master how strangers of – Aragorn cleared his throat for no reason – noble birth had arrived in Edoras and set the King free. News, the treacherous Wizard would not welcome with a warm heart, undoubtedly.

A heaviness hung in the air and night was falling swiftly around the great host of Men – the last – that had ridden out from Edoras two days ago and was making its way to Helm's Deep, this people's ancient stronghold by the Mountains. Saruman's armies had already been sighted and it was now clear that his love of Men (or Wizards, or Elves… or even Dwarves) had not grown since Gandalf's last visit to him. He would strike hard. As for Gandalf, he had mysteriously, but dramatically, taken off several hours ago, shouting something about keeping the King well and awaiting him (Gandalf, that was) at Helm's Gate. But when he wanted them to go and look for him, he did not say. One might think that _The _White Wizard would have the decency to be more precise, but then one would be fooled.

Aragorn's trail of thoughts was interrupted by the overjoyed (as overjoyed it could possibly sound) voice of Gimli, seated before Éomer on Firefoot, the Marshal's horse. (Yes, the Dwarf had made an agreement of peace with him, loosely based on a promise that Éomer would never insult the Lady Galadriel in the Dwarf's presence. Stranger deals had occurred, Aragorn hoped rather than knew.) Anyhow, Gimli spoke.

"Now this is more to my liking! There is good rock here, I tell you!" The Dwarf was eagerly devouring every cliff and crag with burning eyes. "Oh, if I only had a couple of Orc-heads to cleave I should be completely content!"

Éomer laughed heartily, but his answer was more serious than so. "I suspect, my friend, that your wish will be granted all too soon. The darkened army behind us seems ever to grow."

"Well show them to me and I shall lessen their number," wowed Gimli.

On Éomer's other side rode Legolas on Arod. At the confident words of the Dwarf, he let out a small sigh. "I do not like this place," he said, "and I shall like it no more in the light of day."

Aragorn stirred at this. It was natural for his lover to be uneasy in such a dreary and stony landscape, but that he had not thought of this before made him want to curse himself. He was about to call out a word of comfort, but Legolas spoke again.

"All the same, you comfort me Gimli," he smiled at the Dwarf. "I am glad that you will be standing by me with your heavy axe and your true heart."

_Hold on a minute!_

'True heart'?!

"I shall stand by you also, Legolas," Aragorn called out.

Legolas lifted his eyes and frowned. "No, you shall stand with Éomer, is that not so?" His tone was conversational enough but had a sharp edge to it that the Man did not like. "Did you not promise to draw swords together?" He sent Aragorn a challenging look.

_Damn._

Éomer too turned his eyes to Aragorn. "Aye, my lord, I should be honoured to stand by you and match my simple sword to the strength of Andúril."

So he might have promised that in a moment of weakness. Why was he surrounded by folk who remembered things all the time? It was not exactly making matters easier now, was it?

"I will stand with you Éomer," he said somewhat reluctantly. It did not do for the future King of Gondor (yes, yes, _and_ Arnor) to break promises, even those that had been made in a hurry.

"It means a lot to me," Éomer smiled and bowed his head.

"Brilliant," muttered Aragorn under his breath.

– xxx –

Fighting was a dirty business. As the hours dragged on, and the night refused to give way for dawn, the Orcs seemed to multiply over and over again. He chopped off heads and stabbed chests (a pity 'head' and 'chest' did not rhyme, by the way) and sliced of ears and inserted fear (now he might be on to something: 'ear' and 'fear'…) in every foe he met. He ran hither and thither, crying 'Elendil!' until his throat was hoarse. He drew swords with Éomer and even rode out with the King himself as the sky finally blazed with light in the east.

They were on the verge of losing the battle. Alright, they had practically lost already. But then Gandalf emerged from the shadows with a host of a thousand men and a new-planted forest, and all was settled.

The forest was a bit of a surprise.

Gandalf himself twinkled happily at them, pretending he knew nothing about it, other than that the forest was obviously on their side. Aragorn remained distrustful until not even he could deny that the fleeing Orcs that ran in among the trees did not come out again.

So, all of this happened. (Or Aragorn would not have been so out of breath as he was, or Andúril would not have been so bloodied.) And he was deeply thankful for the victory, but he was not at ease before he could make absolutely sure that Legolas was safely beside him. The Elf was mounted on Arod which meant he was still some feet away (as he could not possibly have ridden out with Aragorn upon Hasufel in the middle of the battle. War was after all an entirely diverse activity from… other… activities.) but he looked like he breathed (it was always harder to tell with Elves) and he appeared unscathed.

To – more or less – everyone's satisfaction Théoden, Éomer and Gimli had made it too.

"Aye, but there is a notch in my axe! The fourty-second Orc had an iron collar on his neck, but he is dead all the same!" the Dwarf called out as he trotted up to them. "How did you do, Master Elf?"

"You have passed my score by one," Legolas answered him. "But I willingly admit defeat in such a game when the greater victory is ours to share in. I am glad to see you on your feet, Gimli."

Aragorn frowned but wisely decided that this was no time for petty quarrels. It was just as well because Gandalf was announcing that he would be riding to Isengard to a parley with Saruman as soon as was possible.

"I will come with you," said Théoden, "but my men are weary with battle, and so am I."

"Then let all who are to ride with me rest now. We will journey under the shadow of evening," told him Gandalf. "Aragorn?"

Aragorn, whose eyes had strayed to Legolas once more, looked up and blinked. "Yes?"

"Will you come with me to Isengard?" the Wizard asked, raising a snow-white eyebrow.

"I…"

He was not sure he was in the mood. He had had no proper rest since what undoubtedly was forever and he desperately needed a bath.

"Gimli, you will join me, will you not?" Gandalf turned to the Dwarf who nodded brusquely. "Good. Legolas?"

The Elf inclined his head in a much more graceful way.

"Excellent!" beamed Gandalf. "So, Aragorn..?"

Aragorn did _not _miss the wink that went with the smile. The calculating Wizard's were always the worst ones.

"I shall go with you," he grunted and had the pleasure of seeing the smile broaden even more.

"Splendid!" The Calculating Wizard Who Was Getting Quite Annoying And Kept On Beaming said.

_Fantastic. Glorious. _

"Then let us all get some sleep," suggested Éomer. "I shall personally see to your lodgings."

If Legolas had scarcely moved before, this offer apparently caught his attention for he straightened on Arod's back.

"Many men indeed shall need a place to sleep tonight, is this not so?" he queried.

"Yes," agreed Éomer, "but there is plenty of room within the Hornburg. Besides, our soldiers are used to little personal space and will no doubt gladly give up their rooms to those who woke our King from his evil doze and led us to this victory."

"But we would not wish to take up more space than needed," Legolas insisted.

"Ooh, Legolas!" Gimli broke in, in a booming sort of way. "I hope you do not speak so freely for all of us! I for myself should very much like to lie in my own bed, be it only for one night. Or day, as it shall be. As should Aragorn here, I suspect."

The Dwarf looked encouragingly at the Man for some support but the more Aragorn considered it, the more he figured that there were indeed _very many_ Men here still alive, and all of them would need a place to rest… So if Éomer ran out of sleeping places, Aragorn had no problem at all… sharing, for example. Should the knotty situation arise.

"Well," he began, but was immediately interrupted by Legolas who sounded curiously – and uncharacteristically – anxious.

"Surely Lord Éomer, you cannot without difficulty lodge all of these Men. Aragorn and I shall share a room and so ease your troubles."

Gimli looked as if he could not believe what he was hearing. "Master Elf! You would willingly give up your own comfort –" He broke off suddenly and his eyes went wide. "Ah." Swiftly he began tending to his axe.

Aragorn cleared his throat. Something that unfortunately turned everyone's attention to him.

"Uhm, yes," he tried.

Was that an illumination trick of the growing dawn, or was that actually Gandalf shaking his head and Legolas rolling his eyes?

"Legolas and I will share," he hastened to say. "No problem."

"Very well," said Éomer, "if you insist. Come with me then and I shall find you a room."

They rode back to the Hornburg in silence. All around them, soldiers were beginning to pile up the dead. Many Riders lay among the slain and for them several large mounds would be raised. Songs of the battle would be made and they would tell of how the horn of Helm had reverberated among the cliffs and rock, and they would tell of the King's courage and the coming of the White Rider who was Gandalf transformed.

Aragorn sighed as he slipped down to his feet and saw Hasufel being led away. It had been a long, long night.

Éomer led them inside the Hornburg and they bid the King a good day's rest as he made for his quarters. Gandalf too disappeared in his own fashion, saying he had no need for sleep but that he would instead plan the next stage of their journey. This left Éomer with a Dwarf and two lovers. (Of which of course he had no idea since no one had told him so. If that had been the case, he obviously from the beginning would have offered Aragorn and Legolas to share a room, if he had felt so inclined. If, on the other hand, he had not wanted them to share a room, he would have tried to prevent it. Naturally. After all, he had a will of his own. As was his right. There were no laws in Rohan against such things. Not against sparrows flying in a south-west direction on the second day of the summer season either, but that is another story completely. Therefore we shall not delve into that at present. After all, it would not seem appropriate after such a horrible battle had taken place.)

"I thank you, Horse Master," said Gimli when he had been shown to his chamber. It was a charming room cut out in the very rock, complete with cold, stony walls and no windows. "It is most pleasing! I shall be content here. Out of hearing distance as well, I hope, from those two!"

Éomer shot a puzzled look in Aragorn's and Legolas' direction. Who both glared at the Dwarf.

"They, ehm, snore," Gimli explained weakly, albeit gruffly.

Before Legolas could protest, Aragorn stamped on his foot.

"Ouch!" his lover cried and elbowed him in the ribs.

Aragorn pushed at his shoulder and to his pure happiness almost made the Elf loose his balance.

"And they fight, as you can plainly see, friend Éomer," added Gimli.

Legolas regained his footing but refrained from another attack and only glowered at Aragorn.

"Right," said Éomer with a hint of surprise to his whole being. (And as he was rather tall, that was a lot of surprise.)

"You had better lead them away," the Dwarf suggested in a low voice, giving the Rider a look of deep understanding and utter grievance.

"Right," Éomer repeated and stroked back his blond hair unsurely.

They were on their way when the obnoxious Dwarf called Aragorn back to his door.

"Now laddie, that went very well if I may say so!" Gimli nodded contentedly.

"Oh, indeed," agreed Aragorn, not agreeing at all.

Who was it that had allowed this Dwarf to join their Quest again?

"Only one more thing. Before you and that Elf of yours do whatever you will do…"

"Yes?" Aragorn fought his body's urge to blush.

"Take a bath, laddie. You are no sight to behold for very long. Not even for a Dwarf."

– xxx –

So, this was odd. Most extraordinary. And very, very odd.

To say the least.

It was also a little bit alarming.

He tried to ignore that.

It was not that he was unused these items, but what he saw now did remind him of how much time that had actually passed since… well, the last time.

He was not afraid. That would be silly. He was just a tad bit nervous.

There would be some demands.

Aragorn took one step closer. His booted foot landed heavily on the tiled floor. The light of day grew steadily outside, but he had drawn the heavy curtains shut. The still chill air was chased away by the small wood-fire crackling happily in its place to his right. Facing the item he was currently surveying.

It was not overly large but he suspected it would serve the intended purpose quite well.

Grimly, he took another step, closing in, drawing nearer.

Maybe if he had prepared?

No, he had to dismiss that thought. Not even Legolas would have asked him to do that. Which, though, did not mean that he wanted anyone else to consider this situation for even half a second. Besides, he had been hunting, killing and battling Orcs! Not thinking about this type of activity.

Alright, there had been that moment in the grass before they entered Fangorn Forest, but otherwise he had been rather preoccupied. And, during the past half-hour he had known it might come to this… but he was allowed this hour of insecurity! Problem was, the other part involved most likely did not share his feelings.

He took one final step and was finally within touching distance.

The door to the bathing chamber opened behind him.

"Making friends with the bed, are we love?"

Aragorn spun around and could not really help that his breath caught in his throat.

Legolas was leaning against the doorframe. His chest was bare and he only had a piece of linen cloth draped around his hips. His hair, for once, was unbraided and loose, wet and uncombed. The battle of Helm's Deep had left no trace on his body.

"Just, you know, acquainting myself with the… thought," Aragorn said. He was pretty sure that it had sounded better in his mind.

"I see," the Elf drew nearer and Aragorn found that his gaze was constantly falling down towards where the pale skin met the damp cloth. Below Legolas' stomach that was, not down by his knees. (Aragorn had never considered knees to be particularly enthralling.)

"Aragorn," said Legolas when he was standing so close that the Man felt, one: all of his blood beginning to hum excitedly in his veins, and two: like a pile of mud. "Aragorn, I thank the Valar that you survived tonight."

He looked straight into Legolas' blue eyes.

"I love you," he mumbled. "And if you had not lived through the battle…" He trailed off, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"You have my love." Legolas held his gaze for a long while. Then he raised a hand and picked out a strand of Aragorn's dishevelled hair. "Do you know how extraordinarily unwashed you are?"

"I will have you know that as soon as we entered, someone dashed inside the bathing chamber and left me with no option," Aragorn pointed out.

"Oh, I wonder who that was?" As always, Legolas was all innocence.

"I have a fairly good idea." He stepped away from the Elf and threw a glance towards the adjacent room. "Is there any warm water left?"

"Perhaps."

"What do you mean, 'perhaps'?"

"There might be water left, but it is no certainty."

Aragorn regarded Legolas questioningly. "You were last in the bathing chamber, you should know."

His lover shook his head. "No, love, you mean that I ought to know since I am the only one of us who has ever set foot in there. You have been in here, all the time."

"Whatever," Aragorn grunted. "You know what I mean!"

"Yes, I just told you what you mean," Legolas slowly explained to him.

"So?"

"So, what?"

_Do not lose you temper. Do not lose your temper._

"IS THERE ANY WARM WATER LEFT?!"

_Lovely._

Legolas did not even look the slightest taken aback. Instead, he took one step forward so that he was once more facing Aragorn. "These past days have been hard on you, have they not?"

Things sort of got out of hand then.

"Yes!" Aragorn cried out, flinging his arms in the air and whirling around. "Yes, they have! First we lose Gandalf who was our guide, then we discover that Gollum is after us – not mentioning Saruman and his Uruk-hai, _or _even Sauron himself – and then Boromir dies on me without telling me anything of importance other than that he liked my coat – and I will have you know _that_ is why he 'looked' at me! So, after that, off goes Frodo with Sam – or Sam with Frodo, more likely – into the Dark Lands, to his doom, no doubt! Merry and Pippin we lose as well, and Boromir we give to Rauros. _And he was not in love with me! _Then we search night and day for the Hobbits, but find naught but a burning pile of bones! Oh, and _then_ we go into Fangorn – _the _Fangorn Forest! – and is greeted by Gandalf, who is not dead at all but very much alive! And who tells us that the Ents – who are not even supposed to exist any more – are moving and I do not know what! Off to Edoras we are, oh yes! And there we meet a King who is under the evil spell of Saruman. As soon as that is solved, we ride immediately to Helm's Deep where we fight a terrible battle and win by mere chance! I have not slept in hours and now – now, Legolas – you will not tell me if there is any hot water and _I NEED TO WASH!"_

He stared rebelliously at a stunned Legolas who blinked at him.

"There you have it."

"Well," said Legolas.

His breathing was rapid and blood was still rushing through him at a dangerous speed. Aragorn did what he considered appropriate.

He grabbed Legolas and roughly pressed his lips against his lover's mouth.

When they broke apart, even Legolas' chest was heaving.

"Aragorn…" he began carefully, "before we continue, which I would very much like to do, there is one thing I want to make sure you have understood… You did hear it when Gandalf told us the Hobbits are alive, yes?"

Aragorn was more interested in trying another one of those kisses, but he forced himself to listen. "Yes, I heard."

"Then, you do realise that we will probably see them again?"

"Mhm…"

If he pushed Legolas down onto the bed, then maybe he could pull off the linen cloth simultaneously?

"Aragorn. Merry and Pippin will rejoin the Fellowship."

…

_Oh joy._

**tbc**

**:D**


	10. Helm's Deep, yes, still

**After all the riding and the searching and the fighting and the walking and the running and the gods know what else the boys have been up to, I promised a chapter in which they would simply **_**stay put. **_**I don't know if I failed. They refused to simply sit still… ;)**

**Chapter 10 – Helm's Deep, Rohan (Yes, still.)**

"Aragorn?"

_Hobbits._

"Aragorn?"

_Rejoin._

"Aragorn?!"

_The Fellowship._

"The Hobbits will rejoin the Fellowship?"

Legolas let out a long sigh and looked remarkably relieved. "Yes, I assume they will. Now, can we carry on our previous business?" Without waiting for a reply, he caught Aragorn by his shoulders and guided their lips closer together.

"But–" Aragorn was not done yet. Not by a long shot. "Listen…"

"No." Legolas was terribly unyielding.

"But–"

Legolas stepped up closer and caused his knee to brush against those of Aragorn. Now, it has already been established that Aragorn did not find knees amazingly enthralling, but nonetheless the small movement caused his stomach to flip nicely. When Legolas proceeded to speak, he did so in a voice that had dropped significantly lower (but not to his knees, which would have forced Aragorn to bend down to hear it, but we have not yet reached the part of the story in which such a position is significant to the – story.)

"I am not listening…" Legolas murmured, pressing himself against Aragorn's body.

The dilemma was – except for this unsettling bit of news about upcoming Fellowship-activity – that although the mind living inside said body was quite persistent, the body itself eagerly awaited the next move Legolas might make. And it did not bother concealing it.

"It has been very long…" continued Legolas in a melodic mumble. He swept his hands over Aragorn's chest casually, yet firmly enough to tease the skin underneath the shielding fabric. "And you know how much I dislike waiting." He brushed his lips over his human lover's stubbly jaw.

"Mmffm..!" Aragorn eloquently protested as his own hands betrayed him and began tugging at the linen towel draped around Legolas' hips.

The Elf gave a low hiss and claimed the lips before him even as his hands came up to the lacings that held the tunic Aragorn wore together. The swirling heat waking within Aragorn could do nothing but build as his mouth was attacked most sinfully by a warm tongue _and_ the bare skin of his chest was reached by exploring, skilled fingers. He involuntarily – or something like that… maybe… – arched forward as Legolas sucked his tongue into his own mouth and offered a small but definitely rousing sigh in return.

_This was all very, very unfair._

And that was his last, completely coherent thought before his tunic was stripped away from his shoulders and he was savagely pushed against a wooden bedpost. If Aragorn were to be honest with himself, he could see no problem with a sharp and hard corner cutting into his back, if he had a hard (hah!) Legolas willingly coming (HAH!) closer to him to take his mind off it. Which he soon did and made it all worth it. Just as Aragorn had already decided it would. (Clearing matters up for you. Do not want you all confused and such.)

Aragorn's hands were desperately stroking Legolas' hair and back when the Elf once more plunged his mouth with his tongue. Aragorn lifted one leg and rather harshly nudged Legolas' thighs apart with his knee, fiercely fighting the towel. When the damp fabric finally gave way and fell to the floor, Aragorn gave a triumphant growl and pulled his lover to him.

"Conquering are we, heir of Elendil?" Legolas moaned into his mouth and circled his hips against Aragorn's still covered groin. "Breeches off," he commanded in a voice steeped in so much lust that Aragorn for a fleeting second understood why the One Ring might prove such a temptation for Men. If one could somehow liken Legolas to the small, golden trinket in question that was. And, providing that was indeed how the Ring spoke to them. He swiftly made a point of never delving into that matter if he ever came across the Ring again. After all, Legolas was more than a handful (hehe…) to handle at times.

He was not sure exactly how it happened, but Aragorn promptly found himself undressed and on the bed with an equally undressed Legolas on top of him. Worse things had undeniably happened.

Like, for example, the loud '_crash_' in the hallway outside and the '_bang' _of something or someone hurled at their closed door.

Aragorn shot up immediately, or at least he did his best as Legolas was stretched out on top of him. "What was that?" he hissed, eyes fixed on the door.

Awfully uninterested in anything concering any of the hallways, Legolas swiped his tongue over a dusky nipple. "I am sure it was nothing."

"We do not know that," protested Aragorn. "What if there is a renewed attack on Rohan?"

Legolas heaved a long sigh and slid down to the bed. "Rohan is a vast country, it will take them some time to find us."

Puzzled, the Man frowned. "Saruman knows we are here."

"I did not say he does not."

"No, but you said…" Supporting himself on his elbows, Aragorn eyed his lover.

Trailing a finger down Aragorn's bare chest, Legolas smirked. "What do you say we forget about that small interruption and move on?" Following the path his finger had chosen, he placed small kisses in its stead as the finger itself began to draw small circles on Aragorn's hips. Painfully aware that he was not showing a lot of willpower, Aragorn fell back upon the bed and once more allowed the heat of desire to fill him.

Legolas worked swiftly, first by ghosting his fingers over Aragorn's growing erection, and then by gripping him more firmly and beginning to stroke. Between strokes, he placed wet kisses on the silken skin and drew a long series of moans from Aragorn.

It was always like this. He had something important to discuss and then Legolas would interfere with his plans and propose an activity tremendously more important. And before Aragorn could say what he intended, the Elf had swept away all of his words with that tantalising tongue of his. Seldom, Aragorn saw them again.

But not that he complained.

(You add up the pros and the cons yourself and see where that takes you!)

He instinctively parted his legs when Legolas' inexplicably slick fingers danced downwards and pressed against his sphincter. Feeling the first, prefatory tingle of deepening stimulation, Aragorn pushed back, eliciting an appreciative singing hum from his lover.

The low-sung tones continued to fall over Aragorn and caress him just as much as hands or lips would do as he was prepared for what was to come.

"_Far," _Legolas mumbled as he raised himself up and reached down for the kiss Aragorn eagerly gave him. "Ready, love?"

When Legolas slid into him, all lingering shreds of memories of Hobbits and Wormtongue-persons fled his mind obediently as if chased away by this new – and apparently much more welcome – intrusion. In short, there were no Ents to be found within Aragorn's system, at all. (Something which is utterly convenient in such cases as these. Except if you happen to be an Ent of course, because then you would probably approve of having Ents on your mind. _Especially_ if you are in bed with you partner, who is hopefully an Ent as well since your ultimate comfort would be better ensured that way.)

Aragorn heard his own groans mingle with the hum Legolas resumed as he carefully thrust into the Man's heated channel. The Elf only broke his chanting to bend down and in a breathy whisper further claim Aragorn:

"I have wanted this for so long… all those nights alone, _melethron…_"

Aragorn's hand went up to tangle in his hair, pulling at the loose strands that were now dry. "Much better," he agreed, and with a hungry moan he encouraged the hand that now covered his temporarily neglected erection.

Legolas increased his pace and expertly matched his thrusts with the rising and falling movements of his hand. Writhing on the bed, Aragorn was pushed closer and closer to the edge and with a final growl he was tipped over and blinded by a shimmering explosion of white-hot stars. Clenching his muscles hard, he brought Legolas with him, pulling him down on top of him and together they fell through the layers of Middle-earth, deeper into the ground than the Dwarves had ever dug.

– xxx –

Sighing contentedly, Legolas idly drew patterns with a forefinger on Aragorn's shoulder, the only part of him except his face that was visible. After their love-making they had reluctantly risen from the bed only to pull back the heavy woollen quilt to have something to cover them when they lay down again. The sleep that had washed over Aragorn had been the most blissful he had experienced in a long, long while. Now the light of day was fading and the hour of leaving drew nearer.

The Elf was still atop him, partly at least, but Aragorn was not about to push him away. Not when his lips were brushing against his chin and his smile was so seductive.

Speaking of seductive…

"You brought oil?"

The smile turned slightly devilish. "I brought oil here."

Aragorn narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Legolas placed a kiss in the corner of his lips. "I mean, that I first had no oil, but when I… acquired some, I brought it here."

"'Acquired some'?"

The finger picked up its dance across Aragorn's skin. "Let us say that the Lady Galadriel was not thinking of only one quest when she bestowed upon us her parting gifts." His mouth twisted as if holding back a grin.

Not truly wanting to believe these words, Aragorn felt an uncomfortable squirming in his stomach. "She gave you the oil?"

"She was worried about you – seeing how tense you are all the time," explained Legolas, paying no attention to tact and letting the grin overtake his face. "She trusted me to make it all better…"

"Great," muttered Aragorn.

– xxx –

The smooth stone walls of the stronghold that was Helm's Deep was interchangeably dressed in wooden panels and covered by woven tapestries; it softened the impression – and the chill that Aragorn suspected would otherwise penetrate the place.

At last (!) newly bathed and dressed in clean clothes he was making his way through the hallways with Legolas by his side. The Elf wore a brilliant expression of extreme satisfaction. Despite the many hissed warnings that had erupted from Aragorn when his lover's hands had landed on his lower back and sneaked even further down, the pleased smile Legolas exhibited did not fade. It would have been alright, had it not been for the vaguely dangerous gleam in his eyes as soon as he laid eyes on Aragorn's hips and thighs.

Awfully self-conscious, Aragorn was now making for where King Théoden would gather his men before they rode to Isengard and to the parley with Saruman. It seemed a very strange activity to engage in, more than ever after the way he had spent the previous hours.

They followed the sound of voices and soon entered a more thoroughly lit corridor, ending in a grander chamber than the ones they had passed. A large, oval table made out of some type of dark wood took up most of the space, and an impressive fire-place held a blazing wood-fire captive in its sooty cavern. Here too, the walls were draped in embroidered tapestries, these ones bearing the images of proud battle horses running wildly in the mountains, heading towards the green fields of a low landscape far away.

Théoden was there (In the room, not amongst the horses on the tapestries. That would have been a surprise.), pouring over a map, as was Éomer and Gandalf. The old Wizard was puffing on his pipe and the young Marshal had washed and changed his clothes. His blond hair was tied back. Gimli too, had found his way here and was currently inspecting the stone walls not hidden by fabric. Upon their entry, the Dwarf's bearded face lit up (beneath the beard… somewhere).

"Ah, laddies!" he grunted out, waving at them with a sturdy arm. "The stonework of this place! Have you properly examined it? There would be an endless pilgrimage of Dwarves, merely to gaze at the caves of Helm's Deep, if such things were known to be!"

Théoden gave a low chuckle and turned to him. "Dwarf Gimli, by my leave you may visit the Caves whenever you wish, if they are so much to your liking."

Gimli bowed low. "No Dwarf could be unmoved by such loveliness. None of Durin's race would mine those caves for stones or ore. We would tend those glades of flowering stone, not quarry them. My King, the treasure beneath our feet rivals the halls of Khazad-dûm themselves!"

"Some I have heard of Khazad-dûm, but I fear most tales carry words of dread," acknowledged Théoden. "Although I will take your word for it, that in its days of glory, it was truly place of splendour."

"Truly, my Lord. Truly," said Gimli with a hint of sorrow to his voice. "But it gladdens my heart to know that even Men can appreciate rock and stone. Unlike those Elves (he shot a _look_ in Legolas' way), except for maybe the Lady Galadriel who would see the beauty of any material in this world."

Aragorn decided that Gimli had no right sending _looks _in Legolas' direction whatsoever. Judging by the love in Gimli's face when he spoke, Aragorn had never before been so happy to know that Legolas was an Elf and not a cavern or a stair.

Legolas though, appeared wholly unaffected. "My eyes see not the beauty which you describe, Gimli," he said, "but if the caves speak to you half as much as the woodlands speak to me, then maybe I will allow this infatuation with rock that you have."

The Dwarf's beard bobbed with the twitch of a mocking grin. "You make it sound like being infatuated is a state that should be pitied, friend Legolas. Tell me, have you no passionate love for anything?"

"Oh I do, I do," said Legolas, laughing low. "And would you believe that at times, this passion occasionally matches the hardness of a _stone pillar_?"

Too fascinated by this conversation, Aragorn only distantly noticed Legolas' hand settling on his behind once again. Gimli snorted loudly and was now erupting with repressed laughter. If one managed to glimpse the dark eyes almost hidden by the bushy eyebrows, one spotted an enthusiastic gleam of amusement in Gimli's eyes. It was fair enough, Aragorn decided. The Dwarf deserved some happiness after seeing the destruction of Moria, and he supposed it was nice of Legolas to help him in this way.

"Ah, the beauty," sighed Gimli at last, but then seemed to pull himself together and sent a wicked blink in their direction. "So, did you two have a good time?"

Ah, how Aragorn had wished the Dwarf had continued marvelling at the stone instead of bringing this matter up!

"Did you sleep well?" inquired Éomer suddenly and the weight of Legolas' hand increased upon Aragorn.

Unfortunately, this was not the time to shake it off or it would look rather strange. He could only hope that no one noticed and just assumed they were standing close because they… liked each other. As friends.

"Hah!" Gimli exclaimed before he whistled and spun around to examine the opposite wall that was inconveniently placed very many feet away.

"Yes, thank you!" said Legolas, giving Aragorn's buttock a limited but affectionate stroke of his hand.

"Hrrm!" said Aragorn.

Gandalf who had been content with observing them silently all this time, raised an eyebrow.

"I hope you were not disturbed by the clamour in the hallway. We had some provisions to move and one of my men stumbled underneath his load," Éomer explained with an honest look of distress.

Deeming that some wisdom was greatly overdue, Aragorn spoke. "Not at all," he said.

_At least it had not been Orcs. _

He did not want to think about what might have happened if they had actually been attacked by Saruman's forces while he was in bed with Legolas, doing things that were not supposed to be part of common knowledge. He would forever be the sole heir of Elendil who had missed his chance to conquer Darkness and reunite the lost Kingdoms just because he found a certain Elf astoundingly gorgeous. That would do nothing for his reputation at all.

And Lord Elrond would be very disappointed indeed.

"You do look rested," Éomer admitted. "But upon our return to Edoras you shall surely prefer you own rooms?"

Clearing his throat, Gandalf looked particularly mysterious. "Never ask a bee about its nesting-place."

At this, Théoden turned to him and smiled wryly. "Gandalf old friend, I daresay your white robes outshine your wit! Have you ever, even in your long and numerous years, heard of a bee's nest?"

"Because I never asked," Gandalf winked at him.

_Eh, right. _

Gandalf was old. He was allowed a moment of unintelligence.

An excited growl was heard from the opposite wall as Gimli obviously found something he liked.

Legolas' fingers teasingly toyed with the fabric covering his skin.

Éomer was trailing a line with his forefinger across the map, brows furrowed.

Legolas leaned in closer, his warm breath slipping through the tresses of hair cradling Aragorn's neck.

Stooping over the map, Théoden's eyes followed Éomer's finger.

A low hum rang in Aragorn's ears as Legolas licked his lips.

Puffing on his pipe, Gandalf inspected the floor.

Causing a tremor of exhilaration to speed through Aragorn, Legolas' hand crept downwards, seeking out the path which took it to places very intimate.

Too intimate to be explored in the company of others.

"So!" Aragorn choked out.

With a small groan of disappointment, Legolas stilled his movements.

Gimli spun around. Théoden and Éomer looked up. Gandalf rolled his eyes.

"Should we not be off to Isengard?" Aragorn asked hesitantly, earning himself a slap from Legolas' hand. (Which momentarily took his mind off this serious business, but as he was a King-to-be, he tried his best to stick to the issue _at hand_.)

"Gandalf?" Théoden turned to the Wizard who sighed but nodded wisely.

"We should. Let us tarry no longer and be off. The night will come swiftly and we have many leagues to cover."

They dragged Gimli away from the wall and filed out of the room. Upon exiting, Éomer turned to Aragorn.

"I wish you would have accepted my offer of more fitting accommodations, my Lord, but you do look rested," he said. "I am glad you found some respite here, though only for a few hours."

"Do not worry," Aragorn assured him.

_If he only knew how 'fitting' it all had been…_

Biting his lip, Éomer visibly hesitated. "This is not how I usually speak to a Man of your rank, but may I also say that those breeches fit you very well?"

Before Aragorn had time to answer, Legolas snaked an arm around his waist possessively and with his chin held high, he looked at Éomer with an expression of incredulity.

"Of course they do. It's leather."

**tbc**

**See, I can make up for lost dream sequences! But I might include one anyway, if I can _fit it in. _;D**

_Far - _Sindarin for enough, sufficient

_melethron_ - Sindarin for (male) lover


	11. Isengard, and road to

**Here we are again. It's been ages, I know, but life took a little unexpected turn. **

**Chapter 11 – Isengard, and road to– **

_To Isengard! _

_To Isengard we ride this night,_

_to see where Saruman, his might,_

_dwelleth in his tower high,_

_beneath the black and shrouded sky! _

_To Isengard! Yes Isengard!_

_From whence the Orcs and Wild Men came,_

_and mingled as if one and the same…_

Aragorn frowned. If the truth were to be told, rhyming was a tedious business indeed.

_From whence the Orcs and Wild Men walked,_

_with blackened tongues they idly… talked?_

He could not know that for sure.

_To Isengard! Yes Isengard!_

_From whence the darkness sent its force,_

…

What on earth rhymed with 'force'?!

Grunting in what he guessed was a most undignified manner, Aragorn threw his scraps of parchments down upon the stony ground. From by the small campfire, Éomer sent him a questioning look.

"My lord?"

"There is naught which rhymes with 'force'," Aragorn told him plainly.

The Marshal looked uncertain for a second or two until he clearly made up his mind. "What about 'hoarse', 'source', 'horse' and 'remorse'?"

_And since when was his opinion asked for?_

"'Remorse'," muttered Aragorn.

"Good word is it not?" said Éomer cheerfully.

_Terrific. _

Because Saruman was so well-known for his 'remorse'.

Emerging from the surrounding shadows, Legolas gracefully plopped down beside him on the bedroll.

"How are you doing?" he inquired, reverently stroking Aragorn's leg.

"Fantastic."

"Good," said the Elf as his hand trailed upwards.

"Stop it!" Aragorn hissed and slapped the hand away.

Legolas looked not the least offended. "For doing 'fantastic', you are sounding awfully grumpy," he stated. Then he leaned closer. "You know how much I like those breeches…"

"I should take them off."

"Oh, please do!" smirked Legolas. "But not here, _meleth_. Over there might work, though – in the darkness."

Aragorn grumbled and sent him a chastening look that did not work at all. "We cannot simply walk off and… do things! We are on the road to Isengard!"

"It is like any other road," said Legolas. "I admit the scenery is not very inspiring, but I figured that you and I could counter that with some inspiration of our own." He resumed his assault on Aragorn's leg.

"Stop it! Anyone could be watching!"

Legolas temporarily stilled his movements. "Now, do you mean Éomer and the King, or do you mean spies of Saruman? For if it is the latter, then I should truly like to offer them a sight to be seen!" He followed the inner seam, along Aragorn's thigh, with curious fingers. "What do you say?"

"No."

"Oh, whatever!" complained Legolas as he pulled away. "Have it your way, then!" He got to his feet and sunk down on his own bedroll some feet away, muttering something about 'boring people'.

Picking up the parchment from the ground, Aragorn cursed under his breath. It was all Saruman's fault he decided. If the evil Wizard had not infected these lands with his, well, evil, then Aragorn would not be in such a bad mood and might have indeed spent some time with Legolas in the shadows. Trust a malicious Wizard to spoil his night.

_To Isengard in wrath and rage,_

_we ride, the Wizard to encage._

_A night disturbed, a night ill-spent,_

_for that, long curses he is sent._

They slept not long since Gandalf wished to arrive early in Isengard. But not once that night did Legolas as much as look at him. (At Aragorn, that was. Not Gandalf. Legolas did not look at Gandalf – Gandalf was old. Not that Legolas was very young either, but compared to the Wizard he was young. Enough said.) In any case, Aragorn should not really know as he was supposed to be sleeping, but for some reason he found it difficult to relax. And relaxation was after all a necessity when it came to sleeping.

–xxx–

The road to Isengard was indeed not very inspiring. The landscape was boring and stony, and bleak and boring, and very, very boring. As was the journey thither. Gandalf was at the head of their company, pointing out various cliffs and peaks to Théoden as they rode. Éomer did not say much atop his horse but for this Aragorn was rather thankful. If the blond Marshal was thinking of offering some more insights on poetry, he would not have welcomed them.

Legolas rode with Gimli. Or, as was more correct, Gimli rode with Legolas. The Dwarf seemed quite content in this world of stone that was presently encircling them and he chatted happily with Legolas, much to Aragorn's displeasure. He comforted himself, telling his own mind that an Elf could not possibly find the words of a Dwarf interesting. What made him doubt his own counsel was how Legolas easily spoke to Gimli and appeared content, he too.

Damned Saruman.

Then the landscape changed and what had before come across as boring was now penetrated by an ominous gloom and palpable creepiness. They passed by a bloodied sign in the form of a hand and that image did not miss its chance to insert a certain amount of fear in the riders.

"Ooh," cried out Gimli. "Were that Saruman's true hand instead of a wooden sign, I would chop it to pieces in an instant!"

Fear it was.

They rode on, passing fallen cliffs and the wreckage of something that once had been a tunnel running through the stone. Someone – or something – had clearly had a good time messing things up.

As they drew closer still, they saw plainly how all, small dwellings in the cliffs that had stood proudly before were now demolished and lay bathing in a sea of – water. Then their eyes caught the Tower.

Orthanc stood still, black and looming, against the sky. It seemed to reach the very clouds themselves and it cast a dark shadow across what had once been the plains of The Ring of Isengard. Aragorn did not like it at all. But of course, it was all Saruman's design.

They came to a stop in the waters lazily lapping at their horses' legs.

"Here we are!" said Gandalf happily.

_Right you are._

"It looks like the very sea itself has thrashed out at Isengard," said Legolas thoughtfully and there was an agreeing hum coming from the Rohan party.

"Who knows," winked Gandalf. "Maybe it was so. Then again, maybe it was not. Now what do we have over there?"

They all turned in the direction he was pointing. (Yes, they did. It would not have been very productive turning in any other direction. Obviously.) And they all (as no one had their eyes closed) saw two figures lying stretched out on top of a pile of bracket, and all around them were scattered bottles, bowls and platters. Small puffs of smoke rose from it. Gandalf's smile grew wider and he set Shadowfax in motion, trotting over to the pile.

Then, as if sensing their approach, one of the small figures stirred and scrambled to his feet. He bowed very low, putting his hand upon his breast. "Welcome, my lords, to Isengard!" he said. "We are the Doorwardens in these uncertain times. I am Meriadoc, son of Sardoc, and lying here beside me – alas, overcome with weariness – is my companion, Peregrin son of Paladin, of the house of Took. On behalf of my comrade too, I bid you most welcome!"

_Oh no it was not…_

The small figure pulled himself upright and beamed at them.

_Oh yes it was._

"The lord Saruman is within, but at the moment he is closeted with one Wormtongue, or doubtless he would be here to greet such honourable guests."

"Doubtless he would," laughed Gandalf. "And is it Saruman who asked you to guard his fallen doors and watch for the arrival of guests, in the spare moments between meals?"

"Ah, not exactly," admitted Merry. "I am afraid that matter escaped him. He has been much preoccupied. Our orders came from Treebeard who, along with the other Ents, have taken over the management of Isengard. We were asked to greet the King of Rohan with fitting words should he choose to journey hither, and I have done my best."

Ents… and Hobbits. And the Wormtongue-person.

_Brilliant._

"And what about your companions?" bellowed Gimli all of a sudden. "Have you no words for those who have hunted you across field and plain for many a wearisome day?"

_Good question. Actually._

Merry turned to the Dwarf and smiled. "I save the best for last," he said. "Gimli, it is good to see you, I will tell you! And you, Legolas!" Then his gaze settled upon Aragorn. "Strider!"

Feeling eyes falling upon him, Aragorn straightened in his saddle. "Merry," he acknowledged.

A loving expression overtook Merry's features. "Oh, you are as grumpy as ever!" he exclaimed happily. "Lovely!"

"As ever," affirmed Legolas not so discreetly.

"You are arguing?" asked Merry. "That is even better! Then I truly know all is as it is supposed to be!"

Suddenly raising himself up on one elbow, Pippin surveyed the scene before him. "Legolas and Aragorn are arguing?"

"They are indeed," said Merry.

"Brilliant," grinned Pippin.

"Very well!" Gandalf interrupted. "Where now is Treebeard for I much desire to speak with him."

"Over by the northern wall," said Merry. "He wanted me to send you over there when you came here. He and the Ents are busy with serious work of some sorts."

"A message delivered with haste," teased Gandalf. "What say you Théoden, will you and your men come with me and see Treebeard? By speaking to him, you shall learn much for Treebeard is Fangorn and as ancient as nothing you have ever seen."

"I shall join you," said Théoden. "Many wonders have I seen in these past days, and I will not miss out on this one." Bowing low to the Hobbits, he added, "I understand we have witnessed here a meeting of friends! I thank you for your courteous reception, friends of friends. May we speak again soon for I have never encountered any of your kin either. I doubt not that you have many tales to tell."

"Oh indeed we do," said Merry excitedly as Pippin got to his feet with light shining in his eyes. "We could start with the story about old Tobold Hornblower, the Hobbit who first grew true pipe-weed in the Shire." He waved a smoking pipe in the air before them.

Holding up one hand, Gandalf stopped him. "You know not your danger, Théoden. Ask a Hobbit about his forefathers and you shall have tales to last you a lifetime."

"Then I definitely wish for our paths to cross once more," said Théoden. "May we meet again in my house in Edoras where you shall sit beside me and tell me all that you desire."

With this he signalled to his men to follow him and Gandalf as they rode off towards the northern wall. Éomer went with them and soon Aragorn was left in the company of two insane Hobbits, one Dwarf and one angry lover.

"So that is the King of Rohan," said Pippin. "A fine old fellow. Very polite."

–xxx–

The Hobbits somewhat redeemed themselves by leading them to a dwelling previously inhabited by Men and offering them both food and drink. After a meal that even Aragorn found he could not refuse, they even produced some more pipe-weed. This, he could not refuse either and in the end he found himself stretched out upon the stones by the broken gates, smoking leisurely. The sun was out and cast a warm light upon them.

"'Tis not so bad after all," said Merry. "Granted, our hardships on the way here were truly hard, but all in all, this is a fine moment."

Legolas was wafting away the smoke. "I do not see the point in this," he sighed. "I should much prefer to watch the sky not covered by wisps of smoke."

"It is because you are an Elf," said Gimli wisely. "It seems to me that your race has yet a couple of things to learn. Except for the Lady Galadriel, of course."

Legolas sent him a doubting glance and Aragorn blew out a puff of smoke, if only to annoy his lover.

"So," he said, "will you tell us of your hardships?"

And so they did, complete with animated gestures and many an exclamation. Their story was to a vast extent inhabited by hundreds of Orcs and plenty of trees and Ents. Aragorn's attention peaked at this. If there was anything to learn about the Ents without having to ask Gandalf specifically, he would gladly hear it. Unfortunately, Pippin's description of entish eyes was too drenched in "ooooohs" for Aragorn to fully get the whole picture. He gathered that they were deep and wise and very, very old. How he would impress Legolas with this knowledge though, was beyond his understanding. (Notwithstanding the fact that Legolas was present and so consequently heard Pippin's account first hand.)

When the Hobbits had finally calmed down, they asked for the three hunters to tell their tale and so they did. After all, it was the Hobbits who were responsible for the food and the pipe-weed and neither Gimli nor Aragorn wished to have that taken from them so soon.

"Ah," said Pippin at last with a content expression. "It is good to know that you did not give up on us. And it is good to see you here, safe and sound, despite the battle you fought. Was it very hard on you, Gimli?"

Aragorn shot him a puzzled look. Granted that the Dwarf had fought valiantly at Helm's Deep, but he himself and Legolas had certainly had their fair share of Orcs and Wild Men to deal with as well.

Gimli was running a hand along his beard. He gave a huff. "I learn to deal with it."

_Well, he had better. _

He was in a War for Valar's sake!

Merry leaned over and patted his arm comfortingly. "We will find a way. You shall see, Gimli, we will work something out."

This was getting terribly weird.

Even Legolas wore a slightly surprised face. He was still rather attractive though.

Bloody Saruman.

Aragorn felt the immanent need to clear matters up. Now that the remaining living participants of this Quest had been reunited (apart from Frodo and Sam of course – if they were still alive –, but they did not count, Aragorn decided. They had chosen to walk off on their own and that was a decision that ought to be respected.) it was time for him to reclaim his place as Head of Company. Or Leader of Fellowship. Or perhaps Master Of Group Of Very Odd (And In Case Of Elf, Rather Attractive) Individuals Who Had Been Thrust Together And Now Had Reunited?

If Gandalf did not want the position. Aragorn suspected he would willingly hand it over to him if 'Master' meant looking after the Hobbits. And Gimli.

Anyhow, and as Gandalf was still away talking to a talking tree, Aragorn rubbed his palms before him in an attempt to prepare himself for this bit of news he would have to break to them.

Pippin's voice managed to beat him to the goal (of speaking) though. "Tell us about it, Gimli," he urged. "Maybe if you speak about it, the trouble in your heart will lighten?"

And since when did Hobbits develop compassion for anything but food?

Gimli gave a long sigh. A really long sigh. Then he sighed once more just to get the message across.

It was so obvious.

"You know," he huffed grumpily. "'Tis not easy, laddies… It has been alright lately though." He nodded solemnly. "Yesterday was good. Or the day before that, was it now? Both, perhaps."

Legolas frowned. "Gimli, the battle at Helm's Deep lasted no longer than one night."

"Ooh!" the Dwarf suddenly boomed. (If Aragorn had ever heard an Ent speak, he might have drawn some parallels. As it was, he had not and so this note is practically useless.) "Oooh! I am not speaking of the battle, my friend."

…'_my friend…'…_

Merry and Pippin suddenly looked very smug. Legolas' eyes narrowed. Aragorn watched them all.

And then Gimli began chuckling. "Ah, my dear halflings! No doubt we shall have a good time now!"

That was it. The Dwarf had gone mad.

Aragorn pulled himself into a sitting position and slammed a hand against a nearby stone.

Gimli's chuckling stopped and they all turned to him.

"What?" he demanded.

Pippin tilted his head and Merry blinked. They both grinned madly.

"Strider?"

Aragorn squared his shoulders and drew a deep breath.

"_Well?"_

Legolas heaved an exasperated sigh and sunk back against the rocks. Aragorn took a moment to glare at him before turning back to the Hobbits and Gimli.

"What are you speaking of?"

Merry leaned forward and patted him on the arm. "Of you of course, Strider." He nodded towards Legolas. "And of you, Legolas. It seemed most natural – since you are together."

Aragorn frowned in a very displeased sort of way (he hoped). He did not like it when the Fellowship he was meant to lead discussed business that their leader (he, until Gandalf said otherwise) did not understand. Actually, upon considering it, it was rather impolite and uncompassionate… and very, very ill-mannered of the participants of the discussion (the Fellowship) that he (the leader) did not understand. All in all, it was not appreciated. By him.

Who was the leader…

…of the Fellowship.

And which participants discussed matters beyond his knowledge.

Bad habit.

And annoying.

Now, however, he frowned.

"But Gimli said..?" He tried to sort the matters out in an effective way as that was always the best strategy by which to proceed.

"Gimli said what?" queried Pippin, looking slightly puzzled.

"He said…" continued Aragorn with an explanatory wave of his hand towards the Dwarf. Unfortunately, the explanatory part of the gesture was lost on the Hobbit.

"What did you say, Gimli?"

Merry glanced over at Gimli who gave a traditional huff and a shrug of his shoulder. "I said I was happy to see the halflings again."

"Before that," Aragorn commanded as Legolas closed his eyes and a put on a face of complete misery. Aragorn slapped him on his thigh. "Would you aid me, please?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Even with his eyes closed, Legolas managed to roll them rather successfully. "Your war – you fight it."

Aragorn opened his mouth to disagree, but was interrupted by the arrival of Gandalf and Théoden and Poetic Éomer and all of the others.

The Wizard cleared his throat and let his gaze sweep over them with a handy grave expression in his features. "I shall now enter Orthanc and speak with Saruman, should he wish to speak with me," he announced. "Théoden and some of his men will join me. This is no debate suitable for hobbit ears, but Aragorn and Legolas may join me if they will. And you Gimli."

The Hobbits in question did some of that complaining, but in the end things worked out pretty neatly since Saruman (stubborn as he was) refused to let anyone in and instead stood on a balcony and spoke to Gandalf… or whatever he did. Aragorn was too preoccupied to take any clearer notice of what went on by the tower as Legolas had decided to acknowledge him at last. And frankly, who would ever choose a stubborn and evil Wizard (with a distinct lack of talent for landscape-designing) over one's elven lover (who may be equally stubborn, but at least did not seek to conquer the free folk and send death-loving Orcs after them)?

Stupid question.

Having lent Gimli temporarily to Éomer, Legolas reigned in Arod and took in Aragorn's form where he sat in his saddle (since the water was still high and he wished not to drench his boots). The Elf looked incredibly handsome even after these past days of riding. In other words, everything was still unfair. Legolas only watched and said nothing. Aragorn squirmed in his saddle (same saddle, yes). He did not like it, but it had to be done.

"I am sorry?"

Legolas' eyes narrowed as he considered this. Finally, he nodded. "Fine."

"Ehm?" asked Aragorn, distantly aware of the battle of wills that was going on right beside them, and above.

"I forgive you." He whispered something to Arod who elegantly aligned himself with Hasufel.

Suddenly they were very close. Shoulder to shoulder, of course, but still close.

Aragorn tried a suggestive smile. (One had to do those things once in a while.) "I find the scenery has grown more inspiring." With an inquisitive finger he traced the leaf-pattern on the leather belt that held Legolas' tunic in place. (It was only to keep the good mood going.)

Unexpectedly, Legolas smirked and sneaked a hand underneath the grey, elven cloak that conveniently adapted to Aragorn's sitting position by falling behind his back instead of covering his thighs. It even suggested the existence of his hips and waist. As Legolas' hand landed on Aragorn's lower back, he raised one eyebrow. "In front of Saruman, Aragorn? And the King and his party… You have quickly grown some confidence."

"Oh," said Aragorn shrugging. "Saruman is old – I expect he has seen much in his days."

"Do you…" Legolas tilted his head to the side and leaned in even closer. His licked his lips that danced in the air just in front of Aragorn's own mouth. "Do you think he has seen…" His hand brushed across Aragorn's outer coat and tugged at the material. His lips were only half an inch from the Man's by now.

Certainly the water was turning into mist under the sun's influence, and that was the reason for why the voices of the others were dimming so rapidly? And the trickle of heat that sped downwards through Aragorn's body had to do with the sun as well, he was quite sure. Funny what nature could do to you when it was so inclined.

"Do you think he has seen–"

'_SPLASH!'_

Legolas pulled away and spun around quickly. Aragorn blinked. The black Tower before him did nothing to either destroy or help the situation along.

He had been so close to kissing Legolas in the middle of the plains of Isengard! Clearly Gimli was not the only one going insane here. What would Gandalf say? And what would Théoden think of him? After all, he (Aragorn) really ought to pay more attention to the fate of Middle-earth… And history _was_ being made before his very eyes – he guessed (as he had not paid the above mentioned attention).

Éomer would surely make a song out of it.

Merry and Pippin would cheer. Or laugh.

It was equally bad.

But then, Aragorn had not much control over the sun, and consequently could not be blamed. As for Saruman, he would not change his plans to challenge Sauron just because Aragorn and Legolas were – almost – kissing! That was foolish! Or maybe it was foolish of Aragorn and Legolas to be – almost – kissing beneath Orthanc, but since we have already come to the conclusion that Saruman most likely would not be affected by it, it is now concluded that we are moving in argument-circles. If that is indeed what they are called. If it is not so, then hopefully you have well grasped this last passage anyway. If you have not – please take your time rereading it and rest assured that it is not very important for the understanding of the main story.

"I will take that! I did not ask for you to handle it!"

Aragorn drew his unfocused eyes away from the smooth, black stone before them just in time to see Gandalf snatch a globe of dark crystal from Pippin and hide it in the folds of his cloak.

_Hang on…_

"I know what that is!" Aragorn exclaimed, causing several eyes to settle on him. "That is one of the _palantíri_, made in Westernesse many long years ago. It belonged to the treasury of Elendil and was placed in Orthanc by the Kings of Gondor."

Gandalf looked up and stilled his movements. "It is so," he agreed in a low voice. "And by heritage it is yours, Aragorn."

_Splendid!_

The Wizard's gaze was piercing and carried none of its merry twinkling. "A parting shot from Wormtongue, I fancy. It is not a thing, I guess, that Saruman would have chosen to cast away."

Gimli huffed and puffed behind Éomer. "But he may have other things to cast. If this is the end of the debate, let us go out of stone's throw!"

"It is the end. Let us go," said Gandalf, and with one last, mighty serious look, he turned Shadowfax and began riding towards the gate, followed by Théoden and his men.

Upon turning his own horse, Aragorn felt a hand land on his thigh.

"The lore of the _palantíri_?" Legolas said. "I _am_ impressed!"

Aragorn straightened a little in his saddle. (Yes, still the same saddle. He has not exactly been given the opportunity to find a new one, now has he?)

Legolas sent him a most improper smile. "You are full of surprises today, love," he more or less purred.

_Interesting._

Shrugging, Aragorn drew himself up even more. "You know," he said as he set a steady pace, following the last riders, "sometimes one has to speak up."

**tbc**

**I know I changed the palantír-scene by merging the two chapters ("The voice of Saruman" and "The palantír") together slightly, but it seemed to be the best way. You will also understand why, for the sake of the story, I placed Gimli behind Éomer and not with Legolas on Arod!**


	12. Roads, Hornburg, Rohan, Rohan, Rohan…

**I'm back! I know updates are scarce these days, but life's been complicated lately. However, here we are and all of that! The road ****goes ever on, as they say. **

**Chapter 12 – Roads, Hornburg, Rohan, Rohan, Rohan…**

They had ridden out from Isengard and night had fallen. Then they rested and Aragorn had fallen asleep and then something woke him up. This something was now nudging his lower back in the dark, and for a fleeting moment it seemed promising as it was not wholly unlikely that Legolas had settled behind him and was… excited. You know. Unfortunately, when Aragorn opened his eyes a bit more, he realised that it was only the wooden staff that Gandalf carried and… we will not go there.

Anyhow, the Wizard looked troubled in the dim light of the stars and he was carrying what looked like a heavy bundle. Reluctantly waking up, Aragorn noticed that through the camp swept a nervous murmuring and Riders were uneasily stirring in the shadows.

"Pippin looked into the palantír," Gandalf said hastily. "It was a foolish deed, but it cannot be undone."

Aragorn rubbed his eyes.

"Fortunately he relayed not much to the Enemy, but instead saw what I can only interpret as His true plans. I shall take Pippin with me and ride to Minas Tirith before the break of dawn."

_Okay…_

This was a lot of information to be given so suddenly.

Gandalf's eyes narrowed. "Aragorn?"

"Yes?"

"Are you listening?"

He nodded. It was always better to at least appear awake if a Wizard was talking to you. The graver problems arose if said (or another – same thing) Wizard expected an intelligible reply.

Gandalf seemed not entirely convinced but went on nonetheless. "It is perilous for Pippin to stay so close to what is now to him – perhaps – a thing of temptation."

Looking into the heart of the matter, Aragorn knew the nature of temptation all too well himself to be angry with Pippin, even in this nightly hour. He could easily summon memories of Legolas smiling indecently at him over dinner in Elrond's house. He could recall the first stumbling moments of what he then had considered to be Proper Seduction Of Elf but which he had quickly learnt was most embarrassing behaviour, really.

Also, he remembered a certain sunny Rivendell afternoon by a well-hidden pond that had begun very innocently with him reading. (It had not been a tremendously captivating book. Something about '30 different ways in which to handle a Giant Ant, should he – or she, as it well may be – enter your garden at an inappropriate time of day'. Aragorn had rather quickly seen through the book as he so far had only heard of Giant Spiders and knew they had no particular interest in cabbage and carrots. Nevertheless he kept on reading the book so as to be able to properly curse the author for all his idiocy when he had reached the end of it.)

The day was warm and he had stripped away nearly all his clothes as he was alone. (Provided no Giant Ant chose to approach him of course. As if _that_ would ever happen…) But then Legolas had emerged from the trees and settled down upon the grass some feet away, and evidently he too thought the day too warm for leggings and tunics and boots and belts… and in the end he was completely undressed and Aragorn suddenly had some problems hiding both his presence and the effect that Legolas' naked body had on him. So, he had…

"Aragorn!"

Gandalf looked almost angry.

Aragorn cleared his throat and wished that his flushed cheeks appeared very pale. (It _was_ possible as these were uncertain times and a year of strange magic and such.) "Minas Tirith, you say?" he offered weakly, hoping that the Wizard had not said much while his thoughts strayed.

"Yes, I shall take Pippin with me. But the stone is not safe with me." He eyed Aragorn closely. "Will you, heir of Elendil, take it into your possession? By right it is yours to claim, as I have already made clear." (See chapter 11 for further information on this matter. Or do not, if you remember it. Or you may do so anyway simply to check that all is well and under control. It is, in the end, up to you, dear reader.)

And so it was that a couple of minutes later, Aragorn sat with a swathed Seeing Device Of Evil in his lap, staring miserably at it.

Equally miserable were Merry and Pippin, having to part at last and they said their goodbyes solemnly and not without a note of despair in their voices.

Not long afterwards, Gandalf mounted Shadowfax, set Pippin before him, and cried a final farewell. "Follow fast!" he called to them, and then they were gone, swept up by the night, and only the faint thunder of the hooves of Shadowfax (yes, same horse) remained behind for yet another second or two.

With a frown, Aragorn returned to his bedroll. They needed to leave at once he understood. This country was not safe and the Nazgûl hungrily patrolled the skies. He aimed a kick at the wrapped-up palantír, but changed the course of his foot in the last moment. Probably it was not a good thing attacking it – who knew how Saruman had cursed it? And Aragorn liked to have two functioning feet after all.

He was dwelling on this when Legolas noiselessly stepped up behind him. They stood for a while in silence before the Elf carefully broke it.

"I expect that is Gandalf's parting gift?"

"Yes," he nodded despondently. "By heritage, it is mine now."

Legolas did not respond immediately, but he closed the remaining distance between them and snaked an arm around Aragorn's waist, hidden by his cloak.

It felt good, _very _good, to be so close and to Aragorn the heaviness of the night suddenly became a lighter burden to carry. He quickly glanced about the camp, but the light was still poor and the men busy, and so he leaned in closer and rested his head on his lover's shoulder. Legolas' fingers ran undemanding across the fabric of his tunic and the touch was soothing. Aragorn closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of his Elf, noticing that he still carried the smell of greenery even in this dreary landscape. Comforted, he exhaled slowly and let Legolas rule the moment. Which he did.

"So, lover," the Elf whispered in a hoarse voice. "Shall we go play with your… globes?"

– xxx –

And so they rode some more. (No, it never ended.) And it was still dark. (That never seemed to end either.) And Gimli was riding with Legolas. (Lovely.) Put differently, much was still the same except that Aragorn now had Merry seated before him on Hasufel. Together with Théoden and his Riders they were making for Helm's Deep and the Hornburg, before a longer journey would take them to Gondor and the White City.

"So," huffed Gimli optimistically, "how, Aragorn, will your rhyme of this night ring in our ears?"

Aragorn turned to him and muttered his response. "I know not – I have not yet thought of a word that rhymes with 'palantír'."

"Perhaps you could use 'Sarn Gebir'," Merry, who had been quiet since they rode off, quipped suddenly. "If you have not already included the events of _that_ night in your writing…"

His voice sounded far too cheerful for his own good and Aragorn glared down upon his curly head. Certainly Merry was supposed to be heartbroken because of Pippin's departure?

As it was, this tactic did not manage to quieten the Hobbit. "Hmm," said Merry. "What do you say Strider, of this: 'From a Wizard's hand I was given a gift… And off he rode, oh so swift... A cold and evil palantír…' Let me se, ah, yes: 'much warmer I was at Sarn Gebir!'"

Gimli erupted with booming laughter and Legolas' eyes briefly lost their focus as a blissful smile of remembrance captured his lips.

Aragorn would have told Merry exactly what he thought of this, had they been alone. But they were not so he settled for some more glowering instead.

"I should invent a rhyme for you," he grumbled. "Of how the Halflings were robbed of all their pipe-weed and how the pints were banned in Bree."

Merry turned in the saddle to look up at him. "That sounds awfully dull." He paused, seemingly deep in thought, but added after a while, "Strider, I am not sure rhyming is your thing after all."

Legolas' laughter did not help.

Apparently caught by the clear sound of the elven mirth, Éomer, in front, slowed his horse and aligned himself with them. It was impossible not to notice this particular preference of Éomer's as Gimli had laughed just as loudly only minutes before but t_hat _had obviously not called to his attention. Aragorn watched suspiciously as the young Marshal smiled at Legolas.

"What causes you to laugh so merrily Legolas?" he queried, sounding awfully friendly and relaxed. Next, he would probably rhyme too.

Legolas raised his chin and met his gaze. "Fond memories… But mostly human inadequacies and hobbit wit," he said.

"Oh?" Éomer inclined his head. "And how do we err?"

"In many ways!" laughed Legolas "But by the forces of destiny, I seem to be tied to your race in some way or another." The look he bestowed upon Aragorn was absolutely smouldering.

It was bad. Had Aragorn ridden Hasufel alone, he would not have been too troubled, but now Merry sat before him and the Hobbit would most probably not appreciate any telltale signs of any ideas and subsequently… overly active body parts.

"Hrm," he said instead, seeking to steer away from any dangerous territories.

Éomer turned to him with a raised eyebrow. "My lord?"

Aragorn looked up. "What? Nah," he muttered. "Nothing."

Merry shook his head dismally. "Strider, I do wonder… why did Lord Elrond appoint you the task of rhyming?"

– xxx –

They had ridden for some hours when a cry from the end of their party carried through the night and a Rider galloped up to them.

"My Lord, there are horsemen behind us. They are riding hard and will soon overtake us."

Théoden immediately called to a halt and before Aragorn knew it, he was back on the ground, having set Merry down beside him, and had drawn Andúril from its sheath. It really was typical. If these impromptu assaults by foes continued, they would never make it to Edoras in this year and that meant no more proper beds in which he and Legol–, eh, and that meant their arrival in Minas Tirith would be delayed.

In the gloom, he saw Éomer ride to the rear of their company and his voice resounded between the hills.

"Halt! Halt! Who rides in Rohan?"

Their pursuers brought their steeds to a stop and a dark shape slid down to the ground. He held up one hand, palm outward, in token of peace, but Aragorn gripped the hilt of his sword a bit firmer anyway. One never knew.

At ten paces the man stopped and spoke. "Rohan did you say? It is a glad word! We seek this land in haste from long afar."

_Congratulations._

Éomer did not sound very cheery when he replied and Aragorn could not really blame him. (After all, seeking – and finding – a _country_ was much easier that seeking and finding, say… a Giant Ant in Lord Elrond's gardens.) "You have found it. But it is the realm of Théoden King and none ride here without his leave. What is your name and what do you seek?"

"I am Halbarad Dúnadan, Ranger of the North. We seek Aragorn son of Arathorn, and we heard he was in Rohan."

_Oh._

Right.

Well, that was a surprise.

He cast a glance in Legolas' direction, but the Elf was staring at the Rangers in – even with his characteristic composure – what looked like astonishment.

Okay.

Aragorn drew a deep breath and then he stepped forward. "Halbarad!" he cried out. "You have found him!" He sheathed Andúril with a swift movement and, while Legolas was still in shock, ran up to his friend and embraced him. "Of all joys this is the least expected!"

"Aragorn!" grinned Halbarad. "'Tis good to see you alive and…" he frowned at the mud that clung to the long coat, "hrm… well, enough." He glanced back at the company of Rangers. "We have ridden far and fast, and I bring with me your brothers also. But this is no place to stand around exchanging tales."

"No," agreed Aragorn. Especially as Legolas was not known for being in shock for many moments together. "We are making for the Hornburg, the stronghold of Théoden's people. Come with us and speak to us then of your errand."

"Ride by me for a while and tell us of your course," suggested Halbarad, nodding towards his own horse.

Hesitating, Aragorn shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Now this was trickier. He was quite sure that Legolas would not approve of this arrangement.

"I…" He ran a hand through his hair. "I am riding… you know… up there." He waved the hand in an awkward gesture that also managed to become rather vague.

Halbarad looked disappointed. "Surely Aragorn, you can spare your old friend some of your time." He grasped Aragorn's shoulder. "Long days have passed since we last spoke."

True.

He only hoped Legolas was open minded enough to see logic where there for once was some.

However, judging by the raised eyebrows and the challenging look the Elf sent him as he went to fetch Hasufel and leave Merry with Éomer, he guessed that the case was not so. With a sinking heart he sat up and together with the King's men the Rangers rode off, and Aragorn settled in for a long night.

– xxx –

The Hornburg had not changed very much but at least no dead Orcs were lying around and that was always something.

Aragorn though, was deeply, deeply troubled. It seemed now that it was asked of him to step forward and finally announce that which he had wanted to hide for as long as possible, however silly that might be. Halbarad had brought him a large but wrapped gift from Arwen (very kind, as Aragorn sometimes still wondered if she was cross with him for choosing Legolas instead) and Elrohir had brought word from his father: _The days are short. If thou art in haste (still do not forget your scarf), remember the Paths of the Dead._

At least it did not rhyme.

He knew what he must do, and it was not easy. Elrohir may be smiling, but Elladan did not, and when it came to Halbarad… well, Aragorn was simply not sure. Truly, it was an hour of peril that lay before him.

Legolas, Gimli and Merry had immediately left them upon entering the Burg and Aragorn watched them go with a pain in his heart (and a pain in his arm as the palantír was rather heavy). It was quite clear that Legolas was upset. Or angry. Or both, but that was no better.

"Brother?"

_Probably angry._

"Aragorn?"

A hand shook his shoulder and confused he looked straight into Elrohir's grey gaze.

"Yes?"

His brother's eyes were filled with dancing laughter. "Shall we find somewhere to talk?"

Elladan cast a last glance in the direction of the leaving members of the Fellowship and gave a tiny sigh but then joined the four of them in a small sitting chamber. Halbarad carefully closed and locked the door. Aragorn placed the covered palantír on a low table.

He drew a deep breath. It was now or never.

No, it was not, really, since all would be made known to them at the possible coronation-to-come, but he wanted this over and done with.

He drew another breath. (One could never breathe too often.)

"Elladan," he began while he still had courage left, "you know he is mine and it will do you no good staring at him like that."

It would have been an authoritative statement, had his cheeks not been assaulted by a tidal wave of heat as soon as he reached the word 'mine'.

Elladan's eyes went wide. "I was hardly staring!" he defended himself. "I might have glanced at him as he walked away, but we have been over this before, you and I. I knew him long before you were even born, Estel, and he always fascinated me."

"'Fascinated' you?" Aragorn glared at him and not for the first time he wished Elladan was more like Elrohir who exclusively liked females. (Elrohir, who was currently leaning back in a comfortable chair, enthusiastically rolling his eyes at them.)

Elladan took a step forward. "Yes," he said firmly, "I will admit to nothing more."

Hah!

Aragorn eyed him. "So what you are saying is that there might be something more?"

"There is not!"

"Well _obviously _you like him!" cried Aragorn.

Elladan took another step and his voice turned menacing and dropped significantly lower. "Little. Brother. Time and time again I have–"

"Stop!"

They all turned to Halbarad.

"What in the name of Ilúvatar are you speaking of?" the Dúnadan demanded.

To his dismay, Aragorn felt another wave of heat wash over his face. "Of Legolas," he muttered.

"Legolas the Elf?" said Halbarad. "He who rides with you?" His mouth turned into a mocking grin. "And of whom you spoke so very fondly when you returned to the North some months ago?"

"Perhaps," Aragorn grumbled and kicked at the floor with his booted toes.

"I see," said Halbarad, happier now at finding this out than he had been finding them with Théoden. "And Elladan, you too have feelings for this Elf?"

"I do not!" exclaimed Elladan, earning himself yet another glare from Aragorn.

"You see now, friend Halbarad," smiled Elrohir, "what I have been asked to endure for more than a year." He raised himself up a little. "But we have more pressing matters to deal with, my brothers, than your infatuation with Legolas."

At once, Elladan spun around and Aragorn turned his glare to Elrohir instead.

"I am not–"

"I am the one who–"

"Enough!" Elrohir held up a hand. "Peace!" He looked at them sternly. "Dan, we are here to aid Estel, and Estel, you have work to do yet tonight." His lips twisted into a wry smile. "Before you return to the bed you share with Legolas and perform other deeds."

Where was Gollum when you needed him? He would gladly have poked Elrohir.

"Thus far you have travelled with the King of Rohan," Elrohir continued as if talking was his favourite pastime. (Aragorn decided he ought to introduce him to Haldir the Second Elf some day, and they could talk each other weary.) "Now I fear you must seek a different path."

"Our father spoke of the Dead," said Elladan somewhat reluctantly. "I understand their halls are not pretty."

"And nor are they safe," said Halbarad. "Few are the tales that tell of the Dead people's hiding, but ere the end of them, in an icy grip your heart is held."

"Sauron is scheming," offered Elrohir and so revealed no great surprises.

Aragorn sank down in a chair by the table. The shrouded palantír lay before him, full of promise and peril. Gandalf had been mighty upset with Pippin when he unbidden had snatched the seeing stone and looked into it. Yet… If Aragorn had a quick look… Well, it _was _his, was it not? Gandalf had said so even, and left it with him. As precarious as it was, the stone offered a way of getting in touch, so to speak, with Sauron and maybe find out his plans.

Then they could make plans of their own… He and the Dúnedain, and his brothers… And Merry and Gimli. And Legolas…

Yes, most certainly he could make plans with Legolas. He only had to explain to him that he had not seen Halbarad for months and the Ranger was eager to speak with him. After all, the poor man had ridden many leagues to see him.

Halbarad and Legolas…

Sauron and the palantír…

Sauron and Legolas…

No. That was definitely wrong. For sure, Aragorn did _not _need any more rivals!

The palantír.

Yes.

He came to a decision.

"Very well." He looked up at his brothers and his friend. "I will look into the Stone and try to bend it to my will."

They nodded. (Almost as if this had been their idea from the very beginning. Unsettling.)

"On one condition."

"What is that, little brother?" Elrohir leaned forward.

Aragorn wished he could fix his eyes on them all at once, but he could not. So he settled for staring at them for more than a minute each.

"I demand that you respect my relationship with Legolas. (At this, Elrohir gave a small sigh) And… Halbarad, please do not ask me to ride with you if I cannot ride also with him, for he was rather upset today and I would not have it so."

Halbarad was doing some staring of his own, but he pulled himself together and gave a quick bow.

Elladan was regarding him dubiously. "Really, Estel…"

"Do you want me to look into the palantír..?"

"Yes, yes," said Elrohir quickly, "we do. And now we will leave you to it!" He rose and dragged Elladan and Halbarad towards the door. "Be careful, little brother! Remember he is the Dark Lord and not known for his patience… or love of any living beings except perhaps the Nazgûl."

Aragorn nodded.

"And," Elrohir bit his lip. "Please Estel, do not accuse him of being interested in Legolas."

**tbc**

**It's a bit different from the book but I gather you are used to that by now... Love you all for sticking with me!**


	13. Helm's Deep, Rohan, again

**Okay, I have taken some… liberties with this chapter. Aragorn's dealings with the palantír are only mentioned by him, never shown, in the book, but for some inconceivable reason I decided to include it. So. Well. Here is chapter 13, featuring: Sauron.**

**Warning: less silliness but more madness?**

**This is for Marius The Roman and Baby Green Eyes whose enthusiastic reviews always make my day!**

**Chapter 13 – Helm's Deep, Rohan (again)**

So.

Rrriiight.

Time to play with the palantír.

Aragorn studied the swathed Stone suspiciously. He noticed that if one stopped to think – which at this point would be tremendously wise (that was why he did so) – several questions arose. Such as:

What happens when one… un…swathes a Seeing Device of Evil?

Is it… frightening? (Not that Aragorn was scared, but… still. You know.)

Did it… speak?

Did one have to speak back in that case?

And if it spoke, for how long were you meant to engage in conversation with it?

Did he have time for supper? (Breakfast? Lunch? What time was it anyway? Would there be food at all in some near future? Why was he sounding like a Hobbit?)

Too many questions. Brutal action was always the best.

So.

Taking a deep breath, Aragorn lifted a corner of the fabric and peered inside. When he saw nothing at all except for more fabric, he continued his business of uncovering until the first dull gleam of cold stone appeared. In the light of the fire and the braziers the crystal was grey and no spark of a living energy flickered inside the palantír. It was not very talkative, it seemed.

At last, the Stone lay uncovered upon the cloth and Aragorn chewed on his bottom lip.

Nothing. (No, the chewing accomplished nothing either. Duh...)

He circled the small table and the chairs once, trying to decide on how to proceed. It was clear he had to establish some kind of contact with the palantír as it obviously did not react merely to his presence (always a letdown, that). He contemplated screaming 'Elendil!' at it, but as he did not want the Stone confused, it was probably better to use his own name – should there be talking later.

He cleared his throat, and then did it a little louder a second time. Still nothing.

Aragorn knew of course that the stone did not have ears – at least not visible ones – but then Saruman was a cunning Wizard and could have enchanted it in some way unknown. Naturally, that meant in almost any way as Aragorn had never been familiar with the various types (if they existed) of Seeing Stone Enchantment Techniques. He made a mental note of adding that to the growing list of subjects needing to be introduced in the Gondor education system after his coronation.

However, at present, he was more or less at loss.

He sank down in the chair he had previously occupied and rested his chin in his hands, elbows on his knees.

The palantír continued to ignore him.

Growing just a tad bit annoyed (for the Stone was no more attentive than an angry Legolas) he reached out and tapped at the shiny surface with his knuckles.

A tiny spark of flaming orange sped through the dull grey.

_Well, well._

He repeated the action and noted a second spark being born, shooting forth and then dissolving within the crystal.

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully to himself: palantír responds to touch (much like Legolas).

He turned over his hand and placed his palm against the cold stone.

A great many sparks flashed in the grey and made for the surface, apparently seeking contact with his skin. If Aragorn's hand was not completely detached from the rest of his body (This would be terribly inconvenient at this point, but one could argue that since no one had entered and used a blade to chop off his hand, this would not be possible.) he thought he sensed the surface growing distinctly warmer.

Palantír-touch-reaction-warmth.

Also not unlike Legolas.

Aragorn immediately grew some confidence. He knew how to handle irate lovers, after all.

Sort of.

This time around he did not withdraw his hand, but slowly brushed his palm in circles against the shiny surface. Somewhat dazed he watched as the sparks' orange colour intensified and reached outward, gradually setting the entire Stone aflame. Also, little by little, the palantír grew warmer and warmer.

Then, just as he was getting rather comfortable and was beginning to pride himself in being a very effective and insightful King-to-be, all the sparks seeped inward and, within the depths of the grey, formed one, single tiny orb; an orb inside another, so to speak. (Yes, we have reached the peak of Wisdom.) Before Aragorn had time to think, the small orb expanded and formed that which few could look upon without at least shuddering a little: The Lidless Eye.

As if the surface had burnt his skin, Aragorn threw his hand aside and stared wildly at Evil itself.

Lazily, the burning Eye rotated once inside the Stone, but there was no mistaking that It knew exactly what It wanted. Aragorn swallowed. Legolas, at least, had two eyes – and they were blue. (And of a normal shape and substance. And they were not contained within stone globes either. Not that this made them any less beautiful. To be honest, Aragorn had seldom – if ever – seen a pair of eyes he found as alluring as Legolas'. Of course he had told him so. He had. Had he not?)

Aragorn frowned. Up until now, he had been absolutely sure that he had told Legolas he found his eyes beautiful. But, come to think of it, he might not have done that, and _that _was dreadful! They were lovers and certainly that was the type of compliment that you paid your lover. Because if–

The Eye of Sauron flashed.

_Ah._

Reluctantly Aragorn dragged his thoughts away from Legolas and focused once more upon the palantír. The Eye, silent and menacing, the symbol of all the death and destruction that harassed Middle-earth stared straight at him.

There was nothing else to do.

Aragorn glared right back.

_I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur son of Elendil._

Since the Stone apparently was mute, thinking seemed logical. That was easy enough but Sauron did not seem very impressed. (It was hard to tell: the Eye simply kept on staring.)

_I am… _

Well, what was he, really? He was a man, but that was obvious. He was a pretty good rider, but that did not seem particularly important. He was probably hungry but he somehow doubted that the Dark Lord was interested in his meal times. One never knew, but as he had chose logic as a strategy, it was undoubtedly wise to continue along this path.

Oh, he was head over heels in love with Legolas but he did not know Sauron's preferences, so that did not seem like an appropriate topic either.

He was…

…_alive._

With a rage born out of the flaming tongues of Mordor the Eye blazed, and for a moment Aragorn truly believed that the very walls of the Hornburg was on fire. He fell back in his chair but his gaze would not be released by the Stone. A sharp pain shot through him and nearly blinded by the power of the Eye, he staggered to his feet. He frantically fingered his belt and grasped the hilt of Andúril. A second stab of pain almost caused him to double over, but he dragged his sword from its sheath and flung it high above his head.

Now if this did not help…

The Eye froze (if that was possible).

_I am Aragorn, the rightful King of Gondor…_

Fire was all around him, but he stood his ground.

_I am Aragorn… and this is my Stone!_

With one last effort he forced his own eyes to pierce the flame of Evil and in an enormous explosion, the Eye dissolved into nothingness.

All was silent.

He slumped back into his chair with a heart that beat so hard and fast he was sure it would escape his chest. Sweat trickled down his brow and his eyes were burning. Andúril fell from his fingers and slid to the floor with a _clank_.

He sat for many long moments with a new knowledge making itself known to him. From whence this information came he could not say, but somehow it was now clear to him that Minas Tirith was threatened and that he would have to take the shortest way there.

Troubled and weary as never before, he rose to his feet, covered up the now dull Stone and picked up his sword. Aragorn dragged his feet towards the door, laden with his burdens and with bones so weak he doubted they would carry him far.

The hallway was dimly lit but he heard hushed voices from a nearby room.

He looked into a small, sparsely furnished, sitting chamber, containing only a table and an assortment of mismatched chairs. And his friends. Upon entering, a great many things happened at once.

Gimli snored and Merry twisted in his seat.

Éomer, behind a huge stack of parchments, dropped his quill and Elrohir who had been reclining against a wall, straightened a little.

Elladan – who was sitting very close to Legolas – looked up and swiftly schooled his features into a mask of politeness and civility.

And Legolas pushed back his chair and shot to his feet. _"Meleth?"_

Aragorn nearly (only nearly!) missed the look of concern in his face, for Elladan was sitting very close to him.

Very, very close.

Suddenly filled with energy of some sorts, Aragorn dropped the sword and the palantír in the first chair he could reach and stared grimly (oh yes, he knew how to do that by now) at his brother who was still sitting very close to Legolas.

Elladan stared back defiantly. (This was getting tiresome.)

With a growl, Aragorn strode forward and grabbed his lover by the shoulders. Legolas had no time to protest before Aragorn forcefully pressed his lips against the elven mouth and kissed him ferociously.

As it turned out, Legolas had no intention of protesting at all. He immediately opened up and welcomed Aragorn's questing tongue willingly, allowing any strategy he might choose. A sudden desire happily mingled with Aragorn's blood and rushed through his veins at a dangerous speed. The Man thrust deep into the wet heat and a tiny moan slipped past Legolas' lips.

A dull thud from somewhere in the room suggested that Éomer had not only dropped his quill but also all of his maps and letters and whatever on the floor.

When Aragorn pulled back a little, Legolas grazed his teeth against his lower lip, suggestively and not entirely innocently (no contradictions here!). One look at him told Aragorn all he needed to know.

His lover's eyes did not glaze over for anything.

Decisively, Aragorn tugged at his hand and together they stumbled (alright, Aragorn stumbled and Legolas walked rather gracefully) out of the chamber. The first door they found was flung open and revealed a small storage room without windows and a fire. Aragorn glanced around wildly and deemed it would do.

Legolas was right behind him with his chest pressing against Aragorn's back and sliding arms around his waist. Nimble fingers began pushing fabric away in an attempt to reveal some naked skin. Aragorn dropped his head on his lover's shoulder and groaned when he felt the prominent bulge in Legolas' breeches nudging his clothed backside.

"Close the door," Aragorn whispered hoarsely as fingers slipped below the waistband of his breeches.

Legolas promptly kicked the door shut. "Tell me what you want, heir of Elendil," he breathed against Aragorn's ear, his words sending shivers down his human lover's spine.

"I want you." The lacings were conquered and Aragorn felt his rapidly swelling member filling Legolas' hand.

"Good," the Elf purred contentedly.

Without further ado, Aragorn was released and spun around. When his eyes could focus again (yes, he was aroused and exhausted at the same time – focusing his eyes was not a task easily accomplished) Legolas was holding out a small bottle.

Banishing every thought of the Lady Galadriel, Aragorn accepted the bottle and as Legolas breeches fell to the floor he coated his fingers generously. He was about to ask how (not that he did not have ideas) and where (preferably right here) and when (preferably straight away), when Legolas leaned in and kissed him. "Against the door, lover. Hurry."

Sliding his fingers into Legolas was tantalisingly easy. The Elf leaned against the wooden surface and a string of small hums enveloped Aragorn as he stretched the muscles. When Legolas reached for him with a hand and so signalled he was ready, he stepped up closer and with a long groan pushed inside the velvety heat.

They both clung to the door (which did not help very much since it was – a door) but Legolas never needed much time to adjust and he soon pushed back.

Aragorn's hold on reality sort of abandoned him then. He thrust forward, holding on to his lover desperately, as if Legolas was about to make a run for it. (Not very likely, no.)

"Not long," he managed to ground out as he rocked but Legolas shook his head frantically.

"Me neither." It was not an example of high elven poetry but the obvious lust in his voice overwhelmed Aragorn and he increased his pace.

He was completely swallowed by the intense heat. He placed kisses on Legolas' cloth covered shoulder and it was impossible to remain quiet. With a desperate hand, he sought out Legolas straining length and fisted it rapidly, spreading the wetness he found there. He knew he moved without proper rhythm, but when his Elf tensed and then came forcefully in his hand, his muscles clamping down around Aragorn's throbbing erection, he simply did not care. Nearly screaming, he found his release and in an uncivilised heap they landed on the floor.

– xxx –

Somewhere in the glorious darkness of the shaky aftermath, Legolas kissed him. Aragorn noted that they were no longer joined, but that had other advantages. Mindless of whatever dust that covered the floor, he adjusted his position and gathered Legolas in his arms.

"Aragorn?"

"Yes?"

"Did you use up all the oil?"

He refused to open his eyes. "No, I think not."

"You think or you know?"

"I think."

A murmured something about humans and their lack of attention to detail did not disturb him very much.

"Where is the bottle then?"

He frowned and buried his nose in Legolas' hair. "Somewhere."

"Obviously," muttered his lover. "More exact?"

"I do not know! Please! Can we not simply enjoy the moment?"

"I am enjoying the moment. I am simply planning ahead."

"For what?" Aragorn queried, still not seeing why they should be talking at all.

"For the _next time_, of course. I assume we shall be off more or less at once?" Legolas trailed a fingertip down his arm.

"Hm," said Aragorn as an unwelcome image of the Eye surfaced in his mind.

"So we need to refill it..?"

"Yes?"

"Is that a definitive yes or are you not sure?"

That was it. Aragorn growled and covered Legolas' mouth with his own. The lips were still soft and warm, and unsettlingly delightful.

When he drew back, Legolas nestled closer and sighed blissfully.

"Ah, love… the things I have to do to make you kiss me."

"You have beautiful eyes," muttered Aragorn.

**tbc**

_meleth - _love


	14. Helm's Deep, Paths ot Dead, Dwimorberg

**I am so sorry for the delay! My computer crashed and I nearly lost everything, but now all is well. The adventure continues! Thank you for your patience.**

**Chapter 14 – Helm's Deep, and Paths of the Dead, Dwimorberg.**

"Could we not simply…"

"Stay in here?" Legolas let out a long breath where he was impatiently waiting by the door. "No Aragorn, we cannot 'simply stay in here'. I have a mirror to seek out and you have world to save and a destiny to fulfil." When Aragorn did not answer, he continued, barely managing to keep the frustration out of his voice. "You will not conquer the Darkness by staying in a storeroom."

Aragorn checked the lacings on his breeches for the sixth time. All done and ready. Unfortunately.

"_Please!" _Legolas. Definitely frustrated.

"But–"

"No!"

"You did not know what I was about to say."

Legolas let out another sigh and briefly closed his eyes. "Yes, I did."

"No you did not." Aragorn glowered. "For all you know I could have been meaning to comment on the fine weather we have been having lately."

"We have not been enjoying fine weather, Aragorn. And why in the name of Ilúvatar, would you speak of the weather now?" Legolas' hand landed menacingly on the door knob.

"Wait!"

A third exhalation. "What?"

"Well…"

Aragorn waved a hand loosely in the air, in some obscure and unnamed gesture. "Maybe the sun will come out today?"

"That is it, Aragorn. I am leaving and you are coming with me."

Miserably he watched as the door slid open and revealed the shadowy hallway. He squared his shoulders and tried to chase away his fears. Maybe with some luck, all of his friends (and his brothers, most importantly his brothers) had ridden off to places unknown and he would never see them again?

He was beginning to enjoy that thought in earnest when he stepped into the small sitting room and found that no one had moved an inch.

_Happy days._

"Strider!" Merry called out, waving a hand wildly as if they had not seen each other for at least five years and they were meeting in the middle of the fields of Rohan. "Is everything under control?"

Aragorn refused – point blank – to blush.

Merry beamed at him. "Are you still doing that guarding-us-thingy that you are so good at?"

There was a badly stifled grunt-groan-laugh from Gimli's corner. Legolas only smiled and sauntered across the room to sort of drape himself over an armchair, looking all elegant and sated – and leaving Aragorn alone to face his brothers and one still very shocked Éomer.

"So!" he said, attempting to change the subject.

The silence that followed reigned supreme until Elrohir finally broke it. (We are working with logic here, as you can plainly see.)

"Yes, little brother?"

Aragorn shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Éomer was practically staring at him and it was rather stressful. "Is all well?" he queried eventually.

"Formidable," said Elrohir. "How are you doing yourself?"

"Fine," said Aragorn weakly, wondering where to sanity had fled.

"By the sounds of it you are doing more than 'fine', laddie!" grunted Gimli generously from his corner.

"Yes," supplied Merry equally kindly. "There always seem to be a lot of noises coming from Strider when he…"

"Comes?" finished Elrohir with a Grin of Evil.

Gimli erupted with booming laughter, his beard bobbing up and down violently, like a giant Wizard's... well... beard caught in wild weather. Merry nearly fell over in his chair (a hobbit thing to do, really) and Aragorn wondered if Gondor (yes, yes, _and _Arnor) needed a King after all. Would it not be better if he… hid somewhere? Far away. And never, _ever_, came back.

He would be lonely, but maybe he could persuade Legolas to come with him (not in that way!) and then they could make as much noise as they chose (alright, yes, in that way).

His cheeks were burning up of course. What else?

Elladan suddenly rose to his feet and throwing an angry glare in Aragorn's direction, walked over to where Legolas was sitting. He lowered himself into a second armchair but before Aragorn had the time to accuse him of going after _his _Elf, Éomer finally spoke up.

"By Elbereth!" he cried out. (But in a low voice as if he had just had some kind of revelation. Good for him.) "Aragorn, my lord, I beg your pardon!" He was still staring.

Aragorn frowned, as is only proper behaviour in such a moment.

"I should… Oh." Distress was clearly painted across Éomer's face. "I see now that I should not have insisted on you having separate bedchambers!" His eyes were darting to and fro between Aragorn and Legolas at a heedless pace. "But a word on the subject and I would have arranged more fitting accommodations!"

Shrugging, Aragorn mumbled something. (Not sure if _that_ is proper behaviour, though.)

Realising this, he added, "I am sorry?" It could not be healthy to be so upset; the Marshal's breathing was rapid.

"Do not trouble yourself, friend Éomer," said Legolas calmly from his chair. "In the end we were quite comfortable, I daresay." He winked at Aragorn.

Elrohir snorted. "_That_ I do not doubt!"

Legolas smiled at him innocently.

Elladan shifted in his seat. Aragorn glared at him.

(He glared back.)

"Ah, Strider…" Merry was looking at him fondly. "'Tis good to know that Legolas is looking after you."

Aragorn meant to protest but in that moment they were joined by Halbarad who lit up immediately.

"Here you all are!" he said contentedly. "I was beginning to wonder if something was amiss, for when I passed through the hallway only a moment ago – this place is enormous – I heard some strange noises from one of the smaller rooms. When I checked it now though, all was in order."

"Pray tell," said Elrohir, fixing him with his grey eyes. "Of which room do you speak, Halbarad?"

The Dúnadan shrugged. "As I said, nothing to worry about. A small storeroom it was, only some feet away. For a split second, I thought it harboured a wild boar."

Merry let out an insane giggle but then schooled his features into a mask of seriousness. "One never knows," he said thoughtfully, "but for my part I think it was a balrog."

_Enough!_

"We take the Paths of the Dead!" shouted Aragorn.

– xxx –

"Love… are you sure it is this way?"

Aragorn turned to Legolas with a frown (a new one). "Yes."

The Elf surveyed the anonymous Dark Door without much interest. "It does not say so, you know."

"So if you were a Door of the Dead, you would wear a sign saying 'I am the Door of the Dead'?"

Legolas looked at him as if he had gone insane. "No, Aragorn I would not. I am not a door."

"I know that!"

"Then why are you sounding as if you would like me to be one?"

Aragorn stared at him in disbelief. "I do not!"

Legolas' eyes narrowed. "You are imagining it."

"No! I am simply saying that a Door of the Dead must not by rule exhibit its… nature." Aragorn shrugged one shoulder, trying to look as if he stood in front of Dark Doors of Doom all the time.

"And this you know because..?"

"'Tis obvious! Look at it! Its true identity is hidden." Aragorn pointedly… pointed at the door.

"So how do you know that this is the right one?" Legolas raised his eyebrows challengingly.

"How many Doors of the Dead can there be?"

Excruciatingly slowly, Legolas spoke, emphasising every syllable. "I do not know, Aragorn. As I have already told you, I am this door's kin and – I hope – not kin to any other door you might like to visit before we reach Minas Tirith."

"I do not mean to visit any other doors," said Aragorn, admittedly tired of this. "I am perfectly happy with you and this one."

"You are 'happy with me and this one, and do not mean to visit any other doors'?"

"Right," said Aragorn, confriming this.

"In other words you _are _comparing me to a door."

"I do no–!

...

_Damn._

...

"Look," said Aragorn, painfully aware of the fact that there was not much else to see but the Door. (Which did not help.) "We should go inside."

He turned to Legolas meaning to silently plead a little, but found he did not need to. The Elf was smiling at him blissfully.

"Oh, Aragorn, it has been far too long since we had an intelligent discussion!"

"You are only happy because you won..." muttered Aragorn.

Legolas clicked his tongue. "Not everything is a competition, lover... But, yes, a little happy."

There _is _only one way to make Elves shut up after all, and Aragorn simply went for it.

It was a nice kiss. Very nice in fact. Legolas' tongue tip was tracing the curves of Aragorn's upper lip and he greedily leaned closer, his hands automatically flying up to tangle in soft, blond hair. Legolas let out a tiny whimper which sent a rush of heat through Aragorn. He was more than ready to abandon every Door in Arda in this moment but then:

'_Thump!'_

"Wha–"

_'Smack!'_

"Ouch!"

Angry like never before (alright, that was not true, but it could have been) Aragorn tore himself away from Legolas, fiercely rubbing his shoulder where the sharp stone had hit him. "What is–"

_Oh._

He was pretty sure every Ranger (and horse) he had ever met was standing behind them, more or less (probably less) patiently waiting for the kiss to end. And they were staring. Éomer must have taught them how to do it so well befor ethey parted. On top of this, casually leaning against a boulder was Elrohir idly playing with a handful of small stones.

He looked up innocently. "It fell."

"Five feet into the air to strike my shoulder?" queried Aragorn sourly.

"Stranger things have happened," said Elrohir nonchalantly.

Beside him, Legolas shifted. "A known trick to spur you into action," he purred in a low voice. "I like that."

"Hrm," said Aragorn uncomfortably, more because his breeches were naturally tight and would not allow any additional swelling of intimate parts, and less because of the staring still carried out by the Ranger Company.

"So what do you say, little brother?" Elrohir dropped the stones to the ground and adjusted his quiver. "Ready to enter the caves?"

Well, it had to be done.

"Yes..." Aragorn nodded. "The King of the Dead has a debt to pay to the heir of the Winged Crown and we should get it over with."

That was when Gimli pressed forward and boomed. "I am telling you all: if that King harms this heir, he is dead!"

Right.

– xxx –

As it turned out, it was the Dwarf who was most reluctant to tread this path. The Elves feared not the ghosts of Men, even if the surrounding darkness was hard for them to bear. The horses were uneasy and few soothing words would calm them down. Aragorn lead the way, carrying a torch he had brought with him from Théoden's halls, followed by Legolas who probably stayed closer to him than necessary, but Aragorn found no reason to complain. Elladan went at the rear with Gimli stumbling behind.

They were left in relative peace in the dark; nothing assailed them as they cautiously walked onward. But Aragorn felt the fear that lingered in the shadows and experimentally reached out to finger his form. It was not welcome, and far less enticing than Legolas' hand that soon slipped into his own free one.

"This place is not to my liking," his lover hissed as they nearly tripped over a heap of bones looking very much like the sorry remains of a Man. "Please tell me that when you have persuaded the dead King to fight alongside us, you will not ask for his abode in the process?"

Aragorn heard the dull sound of someone behind him stumbling and he shook his head as vigorously as he dared to in case he should lose his balance. "No risk."

"Good." Legolas grumbled as he had to let go of Aragorn when the trail narrowed. "So when do you summon them?"

Anytime? Tomorrow? Some other unspecified day?

Aragorn carefully picked his way forward, holding his torch aloft. "What do you say about right now?"

"Sounds good to me."

They came to a halt and consequently so did the Rangers. (There was some additional stumbling and swearing at the rear as the unexpected halt caused some inelegant commotion.)

Aragorn looked around. Outside the circle of light, he could barely make out his brothers and Halbarad. They all looked grim. This was not a time for jest, obviously.

Legolas stepped up closer and slid an arm around his waist, pressing a kiss into his neck. "Go on, love. The sooner the better, you know."

True. Okay.

Legolas chuckled low. "Go for some of that drama."

So here goes. Summoning time.

"Dwellers of this place! I am Elessar, Isildur's heir of Gondor! (Legolas hummed contentedly.) I go to Pelargir upon Anduin, and ye shall come after me. Keep your secrets hidden in the Accursed Years, speed only we ask! Let us pass, and then come! When all this land is clean of the servants of Sauron, ye shall have peace and depart forever. I summon you!"

Silence.

Utter and complete silence.

Then a chill blast swept through the caves and the torches went out and could not be rekindled. Drawing a long breath, Aragorn grabbed hold on Legolas' hand and together they began moving once more. Walking as silently as only Rangers can, the Company followed them. (Gimli tried his best.)

Many long hours passed in the darkness; no mortal or immortal soul could have counted them. After a while the path widened and they mounted again. It was sometime later that Legolas looked back and then slowly spoke in a voice that held certainty, but numbly fell off the walls without even the hint of an echo.

"The Dead are following. I see shapes of Men and horses, and pale banners like shreds of cloud, and spears like winter-thickets on a misty night."

Aragorn glanced over at him and reached out for a hand to hold.

Behind them, Elladan raised his voice for the first time that night. "Yes, the Dead ride behind. They have been summoned."

The roof suddenly opened up above them and the bleak light of stars coloured Legolas' already pale features as he turned to Aragorn with a weak smile.

"Guess the drama worked, love."

Always something.

**tbc**

**Note: Again I've taken some liberties. The film deals with this scene very differently (in the book, this is the chapter called 'The Passing of the Grey Company') but we are still staying closer to the books. **


	15. River Gilrain, Gondor

**Disclaimer still stands. But other than that, I take no responsibility for this story anymore. It has a life of its own – I'm simply the unfortunate person who has to write the madness down. **

**Now, the forthcoming chapters will be gap fillers. The book doesn't recount Aragorn's ride to Pelargir with the Host of the Dead, or his journey to Pelennor Fields in detail, and so I have to make things up. **

**Hugs to BGE, Marius the Roman and TheBoltShapedScar for faithfully sticking by me and leaving pretty reviews!**

**Chapter 15 – River Gilrain, Gondor**

_A company in grey,_

_rides this night away,_

_towards the field of battle and the field of blood, _(Observe: there is only one battlefield looming ahead. Poetry is a free-spirited business.)

_where evil forces shall be conquered for good._

_A-hey! A-hey! A company in grey!_

_A-hey! A-hey! A company in grey!_

_They ride this night away!_

_Now falls the night so deep,_

_but we shall find no sleep,_

_though weary we might be,_

_no slumber we shall see._

_A-hey! A-hey! A company in grey!_

_A-hey! A-hey! A company in grey!_

_They ride this night away!_

_A-hey! A-hey! A company in grey!_

_A-hey! A-hey! A company in grey!_

_They ride this night away!_

'A-hey!' Aragorn hummed as he rode, much – _much_ – more content now than he had been some unknown amount of hours ago in the caves of the Dead. He had come up with a rather nice little tune if he dared to say so himself and the air was fresh, albeit a bit… hazy. He blamed the Dead. Their contours were rather muddled and one could never be sure that one did not… inhale them.

Which of course was an uncomfortable thought, but what was even more uncomfortable was the idea that if one really _did _inhale then, perhaps they would like to somehow _get out _and _that _was simply nasty!

Did anyone know which way out the Dead individual in question would choose? Probably not.

Nasty.

Anyway, he was riding at the greatest of speeds, with the wind in his hair and with an enormous Host of Dead Individuals behind him. Life sure was interesting. And Legolas was healthy and happy (as far as he could tell), his brothers were safe and sound (if not a bit annoying) and Gimli was growing on him. Not as a bit of lichen, though. That too was a scary thought.

He was to become King of Gondor if only he could destroy Evil. Well, that was what you had Dead People for. And Ring-bearing Hobbits.

After all Aragorn had done in this war, he sure hoped Frodo played his part to perfection.

In the grey dawn/twilight/morning/afternoon/whatever they had passed the ancient Stone of Erech. It was a dark globe of black stone, saved from the downfall of Númenor and brought to Erech by Isildur himself, or so the story ran. There they had rested for a little while and Aragorn had made sure the Dead were still on his side. That, they were.

Now they were mounted again, rushing through the landscape at an astonishing speed, making for the harbour city Pelargir where they would attempt to overthrow the Captain of the Corsairs, steal their ships and journey to Minas Tirith as quick as was humanly/elven/dwarven possible. As good a plan as any.

It was his idea. He was doing good. He was probably the best future King of Gondor (yes, yes, _and _Arnor), Gondor (and Arnor) could ever wish for. He was strong, he was mighty, he was…

"Little brother!"

"What?!" he glared back at Elrohir who was nearing his horse to Aragorn's.

The rush of the wind in his ears made it difficult to hear, but there was no mistaking the meaning of Elrohir's quickly rolled eyes.

"The Men are tired and need some rest, Rangers though they are."

Aragorn thought fast. (Yes he knew how to do that, thank you very much!) "We have passed the Gilrain. There is a ring of stones, shielded by tall fir-trees a mile or two ahead. Let us ride thither."

Elrohir gave him a quick nod and fell back into the host of Rangers to spread the news. Aragorn rode on, utterly pleased with himself and his talent for decision making.

The trees and the stones stood as he had left them years ago when he was still in the service of Gondor, albeit under a false name. Well, not that he believed he was the only one who had seen them and then left – only to come back now and finding them looking the same. That was, he was not the only person around. Then. In between his visits.

Right.

The Rangers were dismounting all around him, stretching stiff muscles and doing some heavy yawning. And around _them _floated the Dead in all their haziness. A small cooking-fire was lit and thanks to all ranger-skill available, some meat was roasting without causing too much of a smell. The men were bustling about, going through and checking their gear and exchanging Looks Of Doom and other delightful silent messages.

All around them (the Dead included) was darkness. Aragorn shivered. Out of cold, not darkness. That would be illogical.

His eyes fell on Legolas (surprise!) where he was standing by his horse, speaking with – Elladan. Frowning, Aragorn walked up to them, intent on showing his brother exactly how much Legolas belonged to him.

Their hushed conversation in elvish was impossible to overhear as he was, unfortunately, not blessed with elven ears. (Of course, elven ears would have done no good if they were not also accompanied by excellent hearing. For the record, Aragorn knew that.)

But. Although he could not hear what was being said, he did have eyes to see with, and in this moment Aragorn saw how Elladan's hand landed on Legolas' shoulder and squeezed – _squeezed!_ – it affectionately.

_Oh no. Ooooh no. _

There would be no squeezing going on here if it did not include him and exclude Elladan!

Resolutely he stepped up them and glowered.

Nothing happened.

So he tried again, a little harder.

Elladan's hand lay still on Legolas' shoulder and no one seemed to mind at all.

His brother's grey gaze was fully focused on Legolas' face. No words were being spoken but around them lay a congenial atmosphere that Aragorn immediately detested. What was even worse – if possible – was the way in which Legolas was watching Elladan: kindly! As if he actually considered Aragorn's brother worthy of his affection.

Friendly affection. In a very non-sexual way. In a very, very, utterly, extremely non-sexual way.

But still.

Aragorn cleared his throat.

"Ah, Estel!" said Elladan calmly. "I did not see you there." His hand slid from Legolas' shoulder but he raised his chin a little. "Are you well? You look tense."

"Fine," Aragorn ground out with his jaw firmly set.

Legolas turned to him and frowned. "Elladan is right, Aragorn. You do seem a bit tense."

A light sprang up in Elladan's eyes and he directed a small smile at Legolas. Aragorn gritted his teeth.

"I shall seek out Halbarad," announced Elladan suddenly and with a quick bow he disappeared in the crowd and the darkness.

"So, lover..." Legolas turned fully to Aragorn and began tracing a line down his chest with a forefinger, ending his simple quest near the waistband of his breeches. "Tell me what troubles you."

"Nothing," muttered Aragorn. He was more at ease now that his brother was not around.

A broad smile captured Legolas' lips. "I do not believe you." He drew a second invisible line across Aragorn's chest, this time undoing a fastening of two as he worked his hand downwards. The Man saw his coat starting to give way and his mind swayed.

It was always so damn hard to concentrate when Legolas was using his _body _to coax him into doing/saying/relaying something.

"What do you say we leave the horses and the men to themselves and concentrate on us for a little while?" Leaning in closer, the Elf traced a third line, but this time using his tongue and the sensitive skin behind Aragorn's ear. His voice had dropped noticeably and taking his lover's stunned silence for an approval, he licked his way along a stubbly jaw and finally pressed his lips against Aragorn's mouth.

His tongue sought entrance at once and Aragorn was so surprised that he did not object. They were standing in a camp full of Rangers, in plain... eh, darkness, and Legolas meant to kiss him in a way that certainly was inappropriate – in a camp full of Rangers.

However, for all the warning drums and horns that went off in his head, he did not find it within his power to end the kiss. (Someone else might say that he did not _want_ to end it, but there you go: opinions are, to a great extent, subjective ideas.)

So he opened up and let Legolas kiss him mad. His own tongue darted out and set to work tasting the wetness that was presented to it. Legolas sucked on it greedily before letting go, only to turn his attention to Aragorn's lower lip. He ran his tongue tip over it and nibbled lightly, thus further sending his human lover into a blissful realm of lust where there were no brothers or Rangers or Dark Sorcerers of Evil.

Aragorn found that his own hands were roaming over Legolas' body, desperately seeking a way inside his clothing to touch whatever bare skin he might find there. Legolas was fidgeting against him in an attempt to get as close as possible while still standing up and looking at least moderately chaste. (Hah!)

"Wait, Aragorn..." The words slipped into the kiss with some force. "Not here."

Still with his hands tangled in Legolas' tunics and shirts and cloaks and all the other million layers he was wearing, Aragorn reluctantly broke the kiss, panting. "Where?"

"Over there."

– xxx –

The stones were large, nearly standing as tall as a Man, and they offered a tremendous shelter from curious eyes. Granted, they could not swallow the groans that threatened to fly from Aragorn's lips as soon as he had Legolas' pressed up against one, but at least they were not in view anymore.

Hungrily he slid his hands down the pliant body before him. If anyone had told him some months ago that he would be doing _this, here, _and in such a dark hour he would have laughed (or wished it were true). But, as it was, he had a very aroused lover pushing against him, urging him to do something.

Remove some clothes, for example.

Not knowing how much time that was at his disposal, he decided to skip the prologue and the introduction and even the beginning. Legolas' breeches were definitely too tight across his groin and release from the constraints was surely appropriate. Without hesitating, Aragorn worked open the knots in a hurry and soon pressed his palm against the heated flesh of his lover.

"Yes..." Legolas moaned at the touch, letting his head fall back against the stone. "Please, _meleth_."

Oh, it was so difficult to decide on what he wanted to do next! Aragorn grabbed (with his other hand of course) a handful (hehe) of seconds that he did not have (weird...) and briefly considered his options. A tiny idea flashed through his head and with a grin he sank to his knees.

The long groan that escaped Legolas as soon as he took his hard length in his mouth filled him with such a fire that Aragorn thought he might burst. Gingerly he laved at the tip and pushed back the skin to reveal a slick head. Not being able to hold back any longer, Aragorn ignored 'gingerly' and began pleasuring Legolas in earnest, sliding his length in and out of his mouth while sucking hard.

Legolas hands were busy at his sides, not really finding a proper task but obviously needing to move. They landed on Aragorn's head and for a moment encouraged him, but as the Man swirled his tongue around in a fancy sort of motion, they rushed to the stone as if searching for something more grounded to hold on to. Soft moans mingled with the darkness as Legolas was pushed closer and closer to the edge. Feeling his own building need clearly, Aragorn continued to suck and with a hand he pressed down hard on his own, still covered-up, erection.

A shiver raced through Legolas' body and he bit back a cry, sending his essence forth. Aragorn drank it down, doing his best to ignore his own screaming need for release. His fingers tore at his lacings and when he felt the cool night air meet his skin, and as soon as Legolas' was spent, he shot to his feet, grinding his hips against his lover.

Now, he was lucky his lover was an Elf. Legolas, though still trembling, knew how to handle stuff. He caught Aragorn's mouth with his own and brought him almost painfully close. A determined fingertip found its way to the hidden entrance to Aragorn's body without delay and brushed against it. The extra stimulus that this meant was enough to make Aragorn come forcefully, even as the inquisitive finger pushed inside a tiny bit. He shook violently, only conscious of this ultimate bliss and Legolas' arm holding him upright.

He was positively exhausted when he finally surfaced and found that his Elf was equally dazed. Legolas' pale cheeks were glowing in the dark, but his eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. Aragorn blinked and tried to focus, bringing himself back to reality. His sticky release was still clinging to their bodies and Legolas' hand was still inside his breeches. (Not that _that _was a problem, usually. Meaning that there of course were times when such behaviour was not good. Say... well... You know. At times. Like when... perhaps... Oh, you know! Times. In general. )

As he began untangling himself, Legolas made a purring noise and Aragorn stilled his movements.

"_Ai, melethron..." _The Elf breathed. "What power has claimed you?" A slow smile spread on his lips.

Aragorn shifted, suddenly nervous. "Well..." he said, a tad bit unsure of what he was supposed to say.

But Legolas' smile only grew and he looked – Aragorn flattered himself – absolutely sated.

"I daresay, you are improving." Legolas opened his eyes slowly, and the sight was more than enough for Aragorn who sort of fell in love all over again.

"You think?" he managed to stutter, feeling his cheeks growing warmer.

"Oh, indeed." Legolas leaned forward and left a soft kiss on his lips. "I do love you so very much, _Dúnadan_."

Fearing he would have no cheeks at all very soon if they did not cool, Aragorn dropped his gaze. "I try to give you pleasure..."

Legolas cut him off by kissing him again. "I _do _love you for that, Aragorn," he mumbled against the soft flesh. "But I love you more for who you are."

That did it. Aragorn's cheeks were now non-existent and on top of that, he would start crying in any moment.

"Even with all the mud..."

"So you say..." muttered Aragorn, but he could not fight the sappy smile that was threatening to overtake his face (except for his cheeks that was, as they were already in ashes).

"It is true." Legolas pulled away and he was suddenly serious. "You are exceptionally muddy."

There was only one thing to do.

Aragorn – quite lamely – punched his upper arm.

– xxx –

Some ten minutes later they were wrapped up in blankets and sat resting against the faithful stone. (Not that either of them could know if the stone really was faithful or not as Legolas' area of expertise was trees and Aragorn was rather efficient with a sword. Nonetheless, several ancient stories speak of hospitable boulders found in various places throughout Middle-earth. For example we have the Teaing Stone, first visited by the Hobbit Enbur near the end of the Second Age. He was a lonesome creature indeed but he managed to develop a pretty good relationship with the boulder, with which he had tea every Thursday afternoon. Until his death in III 3012, Enbur stubbornly maintained that he and the Teaing Stone were always engaged in deep conversation and that the boulder preferred a pot of steaming raspberry tea. After Enbur's death, the Teaing Stone has not been known to make conversation with anyone, and so the matters remains shrouded in mystery.)

Anyway, Aragorn and Legolas were wrapped up in blankets and they had even managed to find some food. (No raspberry tea, though.) Aragorn was dividing his attention between some bread and Legolas' earlobe when a sort of _ssssvoossssching_ sound made him look up.

In front of them stood, all hazy and such, one of the Dead Individuals. He was observing them with a pensive expression that bordered on melancholy.

Aragorn squinted in the faint light of the stars and the tiny cooking-fire somewhere behind them.

"Heir of Isildur," the Dead Person said in what _could_ be described as a whisper if one were so inclined.

Aragorn stared.

Legolas shoved an elbow in his ribs and hissed. "That is you."

"Ouch!" Aragorn dropped the bread to rub the abused rib in question, taking the opportunity to glare at his lover.

"Heir of Isildur," the Dead Person repeated ominously.

"Yes!" Aragorn cried. "What?!"

"You are the Heir of Isildur."

_Yes! Thank you. _

What Aragorn was supposed to do with this particular piece of information was still unclear to him.

"I am."

Legolas picked up the bread and bit into it, earning himself another glare.

"And the Heir of Elendil."

_By the Gods..._

"Yes," said Aragorn rather harshly. "I am well aware of my ancestry."

The Dead Person nodded slowly, his long tattered beard shifted in all its misty glory. "Good."

Legolas had nearly finished all of the bread.

Aragorn heaved a sigh which he – almost – hoped passed unnoticed. "Can I help you?" he finally asked the Dead Person. If Dead people had business with him, he liked it to be presented to him at once, without delay.

"You are the Heir of Isildur and Elendil," the Dead Idiot suddenly boomed.

Seriously. If everyone he had brought with him from Dwimorberg were like this, then maybe he stood less of a chance of winning this war than he had initially thought.

Legolas swallowed the last piece of bread and hummed contentedly.

Aragorn cast a doubtful glance in the direction of the Dead Person. "Can I help you?" he repeated slowly, emphasising each syllable as this being obviously was of lesser intelligence.

"You are..." the Dead Person began in a deep voice.

Aragorn waited.

Patiently.

Not.

"You are... happy."

...

...

_Okay. _

"Ehm," said Aragorn eloquently as Legolas began searching through his other food parcels. "Yes?" He paused. "Well, you know," he continued after a little while, "I would like the War to be over and Darkness overthrown and all that."

The Dead Person nodded again as if in complete understanding. "But you are happy." And then he sort of glanced at Legolas.

Aragorn did the same (only to see that his lover had found a small collection of dried fruit). "Yes," he said slowly as all of Legolas' sweet words from earlier came flooding back to him. "I am happy."

"Good." The Dead Person watched him for long moments. "I saw as much. And I see as much." His pale lips suddenly formed an awkward smile. "And I heard as much. Before."

Taken slightly aback, Aragorn raked a hand through his hair. "Right."

He was not prepared for the piercing look that the Dead Individual Who Had Far Too Many Senses Still Working sent him, though.

"Aye!" he kept on booming. "Cherish the gift of the lustful flesh, Heir of Isildur and Elendil! For the Gods know I miss it!"

Then he was gone.

Aragorn blinked.

He sat staring at the empty spot in front of him for ages until Legolas carefully poked his arm with a finger.

"Wise Dead Person," he smiled brightly. "I do hope you will heed his words, love?"

"This is madness," mumbled Aragorn, still staring.

"It sounded like wisdom to me!" said Legolas cheerfully. "Now, can I offer you some of your dried fruit? I am afraid the bread mysteriously disappeared while you were conversing."

Dried fruit and mad Dead People. Maybe Sauron should just take over and destroy it all?

**tbc**

**Who said gap fillers couldn't consist of smut, fluff and dead people?**


	16. Pelargir, Anduin, F o Pelennor, Gondor

**Yes, yes, I know, it's been ages... However, I am still completely overwhelmed by all your lovely reviews – thank you!**

**Special thanks to Aralas for giving me the IDEA.**

**Also, I carry a message from the Dead Individual from chapter 15. He is deeply worried since you all seem to think he is "funny". He says that, in fact, he is always dead serious. **

**:D**

**Chapter 16 – Pelargir (harbour city), River Anduin, Fields of Pelennor, Gondor**

Things were going fine.

Indeed they were!

In fact, for the first time in several days things were flowing smoothly. No, make that weeks… or months. How long ago was it actually that they left Rivendell? Certainly we are talking an age here? Or more like... a millennium. (Anybody who knows if an age is longer than a millennium?)

In any case, they were making good time (the citizens of Minas Tirith might not agree as they probably had a full-scale war raging on their doorstep), the weather was tolerable, the Dead were dead, and Legolas was damn handsome.

All in all, things were going fine. One could not have asked for more.

Well, one _could _technically always ask for more (a bath, some new type of food, an afternoon off... peace in Middle-earth...) but hey, things could be worse.

Even Gimli seemed a bit perky. Behind the beard. Somewhere.

The sky was... not blue perhaps, but at least dawn had come as it should and in times such as these, one had to see even the minor blessings in everyday toil and labour. Aragorn knew wisdom when it came to him.

As it always did. Naturally.

So, the sky was there and the seagulls sang in it, and the host of Corsairs were busy plotting and planning for the downfall of the world. Aragorn had only to command the Dead to kill them and the fleet of Umbar would be his and they would be on their way to Minas Tirith. It was a piece of _lembas_!

He flashed a victorious smile at Legolas who was riding a few feet behind but the Elf did not seem entirely focused. Aragorn tried again, but still got no response. Legolas' eyes were trained on the present sky and there was a crease on his brow that was new to Aragorn.

Now this was upsetting. Aragorn knew Legolas liked his smile so this lack of elvish reaction was strange. Only the gods knew how many times last year Aragorn had worked with that smile of his, using it as an instrument to find out whether or not Legolas _did_ actually like him or was simply being all adorable without reason. He had tried it with Arwen too in the beginning of their relationship, but she was dreadfully smart and had figured it out before long.

'If you have something to say, Aragorn, do simply say it. And please stop smiling that sappy smile of yours,' she had sighed often enough.

_Females..._

Now, Aragorn would have tried his smile a third time had it not been for the sudden commotion among the pirates before them. The Grey Company was spotted and it was probably high time to conquer and defeat.

He shot another glance at Legolas and undecided he frowned.

Lover or Corsairs? Corsairs or lover?

Life was full of these tricky decisions.

In the end however, if they were killed, having a lover would not mean a thing so Aragorn decided to summon the Dead. Now, the Dead were already present (much like the sky) but he figured perhaps they needed some additional summoning to go with their already present...ness.

"Now come!" he shouted as logic seemed like a good choice (as always). "By the Black Stone I call you!" (The Stone of Erech, remember? If not, see chapter 15... No time for digression during battle.)

And off they went. Swooping and sweeping, and yelling and murmuring in a rather dreadful, but fairly organised manner. They had obviously done some fighting before, even though it supposedly was a long time ago.

It did not take them very long either. Against his will, Aragorn was a tad impressed by the wielding of the pale swords. But then, he had done the summoning so he had played a part in the slaughter too. A shame really that he was obliged to release them after this poorly fought battle... (On the Corsairs' side that was. Fear of the Dead seemed to put them off slightly.) After all, there is nothing like having a set of Dead Individuals at hand when you need to steal a fleet or two!

All for a good purpose, of course.

In any case, the pirates could not withstand the onset of the Dead. And pretty soon, they were dead too. Fitting, one might indeed say. The great ships were now only manned by some captives that would have to be persuaded into taking Aragorn's side or no oars would carry them to Minas Tirith.

Aragorn watched from his horse's back. Gimli was huffing and puffing beside him, eagerly for a Dwarf of his stature.

"That will show them, aye laddie?" He winked at Aragorn from underneath a bushy eyebrow. "Soon the ships will need new hands to steer them and new eyes to set their course."

Aragorn nodded, saying nothing about the captives. He could not work up the energy.

Over to his left – beyond Gimli's beard – there was some uneasiness among the men. Or not the Men perhaps... He squinted in the uninspired daylight. There were his brothers atop their horses and they were in what looked like intense conversation with somebody else.

Legolas.

Aragorn's mood darkened. Forgetting all about Dead People and the world's possible end, he squared his shoulders.

Whatever Elladan's schemes were, he was not headed for the goal.

"Keep an eye on things, will you Gimli?" He shot an unfocused glance in the Dwarf's direction and only vaguely saw the vigorous nod.

"Oooh, I would not miss this, Aragorn! Look at..."

Aragorn ignored the rest of his speech of praise and quickly turned his horse and set off towards the Elves.

Their voices were hushed but glances sharp and faces serious. Elrohir straightened in his saddle as Aragorn approached them, but Legolas' shoulders were slumped and Elladan kept on looking at him with much concern.

"Estel!" hissed Elrohir as if he knew a great secret that should not be spoken too loudly.

Aragorn stared at them, confused. Elrohir was staring at him with a somewhat wild look in his eyes, and _that _was unusual in itself to be sure. He nodded towards the fleet and hissed once more. "Must we ride thither?"

_Eh?_

"Yes?" said Aragorn. "Or have you a better idea?"

This really was upsetting! It was not he who had proposed the Paths of the Dead in the first place and now his brother had changed his mind? Now?! They (alright, the Dead) were in this very moment swarming around the ships and the Dúnedain were making ready to board them.

The sea-birds' cries were filling the sky as he glared at the Elves. Not so much at Legolas, but still... They had come all this way and now he was being asked if he could not have chosen differently?

"Really!" he exclaimed, suddenly extremely tired of everything that had anything to do with Middle-earth. "I am doing my best, Elrohir! You asked me to heed father's advice and I have. What more am I to do?"

But it was not Elrohir who answered him, but Legolas. "Listen, Aragorn." He raised his fair head and his blue eyes were filled with despair.

Now this should have shut Aragorn up, but he was too confined within his own rage to react adequately. "Listen?" he cried. "What do you mean listen?"

He had never meant to get so angry but it was now long since he had had any peace of mind. "What do you want me to listen to? Elrohir's ramblings? Or Elladan denying his feelings for you?"

It slipped out of him. Just like that. A traitorous tongue had he.

Elladan also straightened at these words. "Aragorn!" he cried – a true sign that he was mighty upset. "How dare you?"

"What?" hissed Aragorn. "You cannot deny it."

"And I will not, if this proves to be the way that you treat Legolas!" Elladan was fuming, a sight rarely seen.

'_The way he-'_

"Of what are you speaking?" demanded Aragorn, no less angry than his brother.

"Of me!"

They all turned to Legolas. (As it was he who had spoken.)

"Aragorn! Can you not hear them?"

His lover still seemed to despair but his voice had taken on an edge that did not suit it. Aragorn frowned, ire simmering underneath his skin.

"What is it that I am supposed to be hearing? Enough of riddles!" he cried. "Speak plainly."

But Legolas' eyes were sending him sizzling sparks that burned him. "You cannot command me Aragorn!" he said. "Indeed I wonder at your actions!"

"Legolas!" Aragorn stared at him.

Elladan raised his chin but Elrohir watched them warily, not interfering though.

Legolas cocked his head to the side with his jaw set. "Yes. I wonder... For you bring me here and expect me to rejoice with you at the prospect of reaching the City so soon."

"I thought that was a good thing!" Aragorn nearly yelled. "We all wish to see this war end sooner rather than later."

"And what price will you pay to see it done?" Legolas' voice had dropped to a menacing whisper. "Will you sacrifice me for the glory of the Winged Crown?"

This surely was madness...

"Never would I do such a thing!" Aragorn threw his arms out in a gesture meant to be explanatory. "I love you!"

"You do?"

"Why would you think I do not?"

"Listen, Aragorn!" cried Legolas. "Listen to the seagulls!"

Okay.

_Seagulls._

Ehm...

Aragorn listened.

Yup. Definitely seagulls here.

That could not have come as a surprise to Legolas, could it? Come on! They were in Pelargir – at the riverside!

"So what?!"

He was still angry.

Any remaining brightness – even though it was born from rage – left his lover's eyes and an eerie emptiness seeped into them.

"You listen now, Aragorn, but still you do not see it," Legolas whispered.

No. As he was _listening_.

"You recall not the words of the White Lady?"

Oh what now of Galadriel!? She said thousands of wise things all the time, one could not be required to remember, or even listen to, all of them.

"No," he growled. "Pray tell me what she said." He might have used a tiny bit of cynicism, but he hoped it passed unnoticed.

But Legolas only shook his head. "If you choose not to hearken to the Lady's warnings and endanger the very song in my soul, then what can I say to steer your heart down the path my feet would have trod?"

_Huh?_

"You... what?" Aragorn bit his lip, rather at loss.

Surely not even the saviour of Middle-earth was asked to – what was it? – _hearken _constantly?

Elladan was eyeing him with the expression of a livid Warg. (Who would ever have thought anything else?)

Legolas lifted his gaze and somewhere in that empty void anger flashed. "Fine, Aragorn!" he suddenly cried. "I shall lay before you my doom: the longing in my heart has slept until now, but to the call of the sea-birds it awakens and the Sea threatens to be more desirous than even your embrace."

Aragorn sat dumbstruck in his saddle.

If he interpreted this correctly, Legolas' words meant that this stupid – stupid! – adventure had awoken the sea-longing that lay dormant in his elven blood.

Damn.

Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!

Damned Sea!

Damned seagulls!

Damned, damned Sauron.

Legolas was staring at him rebelliously, probably expecting a reaction and possibly more than that.

Aragorn had been angry before but for completely different reasons. Now it seemed to him that not only would Sauron have Middle-earth but he also claimed his lover. It. Was. Not. Fair.

"Damn," he said.

It was not much, but it was enough.

"_Is that ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY!?" _Elladan positively exploded.

"Dan..." Elrohir mumbled but he would probably have needed the force of twenty Oliphaunts to calm his brother right now.

"I will stand by no longer, Estel, Aragorn!" Elladan shouted. "I will not allow it! I pray you wage your war and live, but may you learn to treat Legolas with the respect and love that he deserves while _he _still lives."

If there was some kind of implication in his words, Aragorn did not like it.

"Do not claim what is not yours," he hissed at Elladan.

"I am not to be _claimed_!"

Legolas' cold voice rang out and time froze for a second or two. And with that, he spurred his horse and rode off, effectively disappearing in the hazy mist that was the Dead.

– xxx –

Two hours later, at least they were all alive. And they were all on a ship headed to Minas Tirith.

_Hooray._

Aragorn paced the deck in anger. Or rather in some kind of frenzy that had more to do with acute self-consciousness and distress (and every other stupid emotion that ended with '-ess'). If he kept this up he was likely to tip the boat over and they would all end up in the River, but he was rather unmoved by this potential risk. He was angry with Elladan – bloody angry with Elladan to be exact – and with Galadriel for speaking in maddening riddles that no one could ever be expected to understand. And he was angry with Legolas for not telling him of the peril, with his father for being an Elf-lord who sent him on this damned quest, and with everyone other person he had ever met. Including himself. And all his names.

It was not fair. It was _not _fair!

He was a _human_, a _man_! Fine, yes, he had been raised among Elves, but he did not share their blood and he was certainly different from them; the silly sea-singing in their hearts had no place in his own body. Aragorn cared not at all for the Sea – in fact, he did not even do water! By the Gods, he was _known _for his unshaven appearance, tastefully highlighted by specks of mud and tousled hair that took ages – hear that: _ages!_ – to conquer. He liked it that way, it was his person, his essence, his... thing! How was he to know about seagulls and the idiotic symbolism that apparently was no illusion at all but real truth, a fact that clearly stated _'Oh my, off to the Sea are we, Elf? Let us sail off into some sunset and never come back!'_

!!!

Aragorn stamped his foot against the worn tiles and swore so loudly that any nearing seagulls had a rapid change of heart and chose another direction. For ever. Or so he hoped.

Fine. Fine, fine, fine. Whatever!

Legolas could sail wherever he wanted. Expectations were all that rested on Aragorn's shoulders. Sure, just add to the pile and then head off. No worries.

No, he probably was not making much sense, but so what? Nobody cared anyway and allegedly he was generally so uninformed that no one took the time to tell him what important Golden Ladies said in life changing situations!

Someday, yes someday, he would make a fitting rhyme out of this mess!

And _that_, was a threat.

– xxx –

So there was screaming. And some shouting.

Aragorn felt oddly detached as he watched the scene that played out before him. Anger still sizzled in his blood and created tidal waves underneath his skin. Legolas – not that he cared – was standing as far away from him as possible with Elrohir and Elladan – not that he cared – on either side.

The battle plains stretched out before them and cries of horror and despair slowly turned into those of ecstasy when the bloodied and weary men realised they were not pirates but noble warriors who fought for the Light.

The joy.

Sometime in this commotion Aragorn was spotted by Éomer who wildly waved at him, and was evidently still very much alive. He was shouting something too, but it was probably poetry so Aragorn did not mind very much that he could not make out the words. He sort of waved back though, deeming it appropriate or whatever.

Then there was more of that commotion because everybody seemed to flee the ships at once. Aragorn grabbed hold of Andúril and without even a quick glance in Legolas' direction (he prided himself in that) he too set foot on Pelennor Fields.

Éomer was making his way towards him and he was smiling so brightly that Aragorn briefly wondered if Anor had sort of moved into his mouth. Nevertheless, he spoke.

"Thus we meet again, though all the hosts of Mordor lay between us," said Aragorn, but then he could not refrain from adding, "did I not say so?"

Surely he had done that sometime.

Éomer nodded vigorously. "So you spoke," he confirmed. (Nice.) "But hope oft deceives, and I knew not then that you were a man foresighted." (This was obviously more than Aragorn knew himself but the present did not seem like the ideal time to protest.)

"Hmm..." he hummed along instead.

"Yet twice blessed is help unlooked for," continued Éomer excitedly. "And never was a meeting of friends more joyful!" (Aragorn could think of a few.) Éomer clasped his hand. "Nor indeed more timely. You come none too soon, my friend. Much loss and sorrow has befallen us."

It was in this moment that Aragorn happened to look up – and straight into Legolas' narrowing, and plainly disapproving, eyes. Éomer was still holding his hand and the young man still gleamed so much of joy that it was impossible not to notice.

Aragorn raised his chin a little and Legolas' gaze did not move away.

"My lord?" Éomer was searching his face.

Aragorn made a decision. (Stupid as it may be.)

"Then let us avenge it, ere we speak of it!" he said, and with a last challenging look at Legolas, he rode with Éomer to battle.

**tbc**


	17. H o Healing, tent, F o Pelennor, Gondor

**Should I ever happen to be reincarnated together with Tolkien, he will kill me. We are dealing now with the events in Book Five, chapter VIII 'The Houses of Healing'. I've kept some of the dialogue intact because this is – despite the death threat hanging over Éowyn and Faramir – one of the most amusing parts. Tolkien did well on his own here! **

**Aralas, you wanted something..?**

**Chapter 17 – Houses of Healing, Minas Tirith, tent, F.o. Pelennor, Gondor**

_Kingsfoil! My kingdom for some kingsfoil!_

_Oh, kingsfoil, where can you be found?_

_Oh, the abyss that is ignorance – _

_oh, kingsfoil, my kingdom for some kingsfoil!_

_Your fluttering leaf of promised life,_

_the stem that proudly stands,_

_your root is cut by common knife,_

_but tended to with knowing hands!_

_The damned be lifted from the dark,_

_and shadows be no longer,_

_I use nor potion, fruit, nor bark,_

_but kingsfoil which is stronger!_

_Kingsfoil! My kingdom for some kingsfoil!_

_Oh, kingsfoil, where can you be found?_

_Oh, the torture that is stupidity – _

_oh, kingsfoil, my kingdom for some kingsfoil!_

Aragorn cared not the least that he at present had no kingdom to offer – he needed that bloody kingsfoil but apparently – _apparently _– no one in the Houses of Healing had ever heard of that herb. Or perhaps they had and simply pretended that they were idiots!

Gandalf (the good Wizard, for those of you who have forgotten as it _was_ a while ago he was relevant to the tale), had appeared out of nowhere just like that and asked, almost begged, for Aragorn to hasten to the Houses of Healing to aid in the healing (duh) of the Lady Éowyn (whom Aragorn could not recall having ever met, the Lord Faramir (the new Steward of Gondor by heritage) and the Hobbit Merry (whom Aragorn had certainly met and guessed was no Steward).

As if he did not have enough to think about already.

Aragorn, that was. Not Faramir.

Well, he could not know that for sure as he was not Faramir, but that particular young man lay under the black shadow and was probably not thinking too much.

So he (Aragorn) had grumbled, but then Elrond's angered face had appeared before him in an effective vision and he draped his Lórien cloak around his shoulders and dutifully entered the White City in a quite sneaky manner that Gollum no doubt would have praised him highly for. He made his way to the Houses, intent on settling matters quickly and be done with the whole healing thing, but, as he should already have learnt many months before, luck was simply not on his side.

He had no kingsfoil. (And no Legolas either, but it was not very likely that anyone in here would care.)

He needed only glance quickly at his patients to know that he was facing a major challenge. All three of them were inconveniently near death and looked like they had not planned on coming back anytime soon. Quenching a deep sigh, Aragorn turned to a midwife called Ioreth who seemed most obliging.

"You have stored in this House the herbs of healing?" It was always wise to start at the beginning – not to mention the impression complicated arrangements of simple words made.

"Yes, lord," she said, which was nice. "But not enough, I reckon! But I am sure I do not know where we shall find more, for all things are amiss in these dreadful days, with fires and burnings, and the lads that run errands so few, and all the roads blocked..."

Aragorn listened.

"...Why it is days out of count since even a carrier came in from Lossarnach to the market..."

And listened.

"...But we do our best in this House with what we have, as I am sure your lordship will know."

She was done? Aragorn had some trouble separating 'lordship' (which really _did _have a nice ring to it) from the rest of the harangue. He looked at Faramir who was dying. He had never met the man but he was pleasing to the eye and it was not fair to let him die.

"I will judge for myself," he said in what he hoped was an authoritative fashion. "We have not much time for speech. Have you _athelas?_"

It was Elrond's fault. _Athelas_, kingsfoil, it was the same herb, but Aragorn had been taught it was called _athelas _and so that was what he said.

Ioreth went distinctly nervous. "I do not know, I am sure, lord," she said (for being so unenlightened she sure was sure of many things), "at least not by that name... I will go and ask of the herb-master; he knows the old names."

So here came the revelation:

"It is also called kingsfoil," said Aragorn and felt a sudden desire to enumerate several more herbs by their common names and explain how the elvish names differed. He restrained himself.

"Oh that!" Ioreth breathed a sigh of relief. "Well if your lordship had named it at first I could have told you..."

Aragorn frowned.

"...No, we have none of it. Why, I never heard that it had any great virtue, and indeed I have often said to my sisters when we came upon in growing in the woods: 'kingsfoil,' I said, ''tis a strange name, and I wonder why 'tis called so, for if I were a King, I would have plants more bright in my garden!'."

And listened.

"Still it smells sweet when bruised, does it not? If sweet is the right word. Wholesome, maybe, is nearer."

Faramir (and Éowyn) was still dying. Aragorn cleared his throat.

"I ask you, dame, to run and get me kingsfoil, if there is a leaf in the City."

Only now Gandalf judged it appropriate to speak up. "And if not," he said in a wizardy way, "I will ride to Lossarnach with Ioreth behind me, and she shall take me to the woods, but not to her sisters."

Aragorn sent him a quizzical glance. No, of course they would ride to the woods and not to her sisters. Ioreth had already expertly explained that both she and her sisters were utterly uninterested in kingsfoil, had she not? It was highly unlikely that any one of these sisters had a vast store of the herb.

He discreetly shook his head. This war-business was getting to the Wizard, no doubt.

He watched Ioreth disappear through the doorway and a welcome silence settled around them. Aragorn briefly closed his eyes and drank it in. (With his other senses. He did not actually pour the silence into a cup, stir it and then devour it. This particular feat has not yet been achieved with a satisfactory result by anyone. For additional reading on, and further study of, this subject, please contact Imladris Library, c.t. 'Rivendell', _hidden valley, _archive, Imladris c.t. 'Rivendell', West of Misty Mountains, East of Ford of Bruinen.)

Anyway, it was silent.

"Strider!"

Of course.

"Strider! How splendid! Do you know, I guessed it was you in the black ships, but they were all shouting _corsairs_ and wouldn't listen to me. How did you do it?"

How did Aragorn make people ignore Pippin? He did not know. If he knew how to accomplish _that_, this Quest-War activity would have been much more enjoyable.

The Hobbit was jumping up and down before him, his curls a mess and his clothes that resembled a Tower-guard's very well, were dusty, but his eyes were sparkling like a spring flood.

"I...," began Aragorn but was immediately interrupted.

"Where is Legolas?" queried Pippin, thankfully ending his jumping. "Should he not be with you?"

"He..."

"Oh Strider! It _is _good to see you again! It has been far too long!"

And then, without further ado, he had an armful of Hobbit to deal with.

_Lovely._

When Pippin freed Aragorn from his ardent hugging and took a step back, he was beaming. "You must tell me all that happened on your road hither," he decided.

Not likely.

"There is not time yet for travellers' tales," said Aragorn vaguely. "I have much work to do here." He flung his arms out in a wide circle, indicating the invisible darkness that was claiming his patients' souls.

"Yes, master Hobbit," said Gandalf with that unsettling twinkle in his eyes, "in time you shall have all tales. Suffice to say that at present, a lovers' Quest may be as dark as a winter's night in the Dimholt caves."

Pippin blinked. "Oh," he said.

Aragorn glared at the Wizard. It was just not fair. He meant to do much more of that glaring but in that very moment a very old man stepped through the doorway and disturbed him.

"Your lordship asked for _kingsfoil_, as the rustics name it..." he said, rather uncivilly but completely witohut the air of someone who was being unpleasant on purpose. It gave one the impression that this was just a fact like any other, ready to be delivered without much fuss, ado or elegance. Aragorn did not like it.

However, he did secretly like to think – for a very short second – that he had said _athelas _in the first place because of this and not because of his upbringing. (A short second indeed as we have already gone over the importance of the rustic look, i.e. unwashed hair and generally muddy appearance, in chapter 16.)

"Hmm..." he said instead.

The old man seemed not to bother. "...or _athelas _in the noble tongue, or to those who know somewhat of the Valinorean..."

One thing was clear: these herb/healing folks of Minas Tirith definitely knew how to speak. (Pairing any of these up with Haldir the Second Elf would be disastrous.) And it did not help that this man in a sort of inverted way had called Aragorn 'noble'. This chatter had to end here and now. Perhaps Aragorn did not have Fellowship statistics to mind anymore but it sure would look very bad if he let two peo-, oh right the Hobbit, three people die so soon after entering the City.

"I do so." Aragorn cut him off with a curt nod.

The very old man went silent.

Gandalf inspected his staff.

Pippin shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he peered at Aragorn.

Faramir was still dying.

Aragorn brushed away some dirt from his coat.

_So, if they could simply get on with it?_

The old man, some herb-master of some sorts, Aragorn reckoned, bit his lip.

Pippin raised both eyebrows.

_Gods! WHY did he have to do everything himself?!_

"Well!" said Aragorn, glaring at the herb-master expectantly.

Gandalf might – just might – have sighed. A little. An extremely short sigh. It could have been a plain breath, overly... emphasised?

"Your pardon, lord!" said the man and shook himself like he was waking up from some deep slumber. "I see you are a lore-master and not merely a captain of war. But alas! sir, we do not keep this thing in the Houses of Healing, where only the gravely hurt or sick are tended."

Aragorn listened...

"For it has no virtue that we know of, save perhaps to sweeten a fouled air, or to drive away some passing heaviness. Unless, of course, you give heed to rhymes of old days which women such as our good Ioreth still repeat without understanding..."

_Oh no he would not... Oh no!_

The herb-master cleared his throat and drew himself up a little.

"_When the black breath blows_

_and death's shadow grows_

_and all lights pass,_

_come athelas! come athelas!_

_Life to the dying_

_In the king's hand lying!"_

Aragorn stared.

Even Pippin seemed slightly taken aback.

This did not help.

"It is but a doggerel, I fear," the old man continued as if Aragorn had extra ears stored away somewhere in a pocket. "Garbled in the memory of old wives. Its meaning I leave to your judgement, if indeed it has any. But old folk still use an infusion of the herb for headaches..."

He could take it no longer.

"BRING ME KINGSFOIL!" shouted Aragorn.

– xxx –

He laboured all day. And long into the night as well. As soon as rumour had it that a mysterious stranger with healing abilities was in the City, people began swarming around him, asking for aid. What was he to do? He kindly went from bed to bed (_not _in an unseemly way, mind you!) and tended to the sick, injured and dying.

He left Pippin with Merry, had Éomer sit with his sister and had spoken a few words to the Steward Faramir. That man surely had a way with words. Aragorn had to admit it was rather impressive how he had woken up from near death and with bright eyes said the following (if Aragorn remembered correctly – which he always did – as he prided himself in having an excellent memory): "My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?"

A tad surprised, Aragorn had ordered him to rest and eat. Seemed like proper activities after all. This King-stuff was also a bit weird because it was not as if he had besieged the City and proclaimed his heritage and right to the throne. And he was still muddy. Perhaps Faramir was just very perceptive?

At long last, when night was upon him and everyone in Gondor (or so it seemed) had been treated at least thrice (or so it seemed) Aragorn judged it was his right to sneak back to his tent and get some rest. His feet were sore and some dinner he had had at some point had been rushed. How he was expected to defeat the Enemy on an empty stomach and weary feet was beyond him.

Grumpily he made his way to his tent. It was not the smallest one but it did not provide a large bed and a library either. There were some men around but he spoke to no one, deciding that added to his mysterious aura.

He threw aside the flap that covered the opening, stepped inside and... stopped.

In the middle of the tent stood a tub, large enough to contain him, and filled with steaming water. As he observed it, Aragorn guessed that 'containing him' was probably the point. He was so engrossed by this rare sight that he jumped high (or would have, if that had in any way been dignified) when a slender form stepped out of the shadows with one long look and two words:

"Bathe. Now."

Legolas' expression was sort of non-existent. He looked incredibly serious and that really gave Aragorn no choice. Warily, he began tugging at his belt and cautiously he toed off his boots.

"Faster."

He dropped his coat.

Legolas raised an eyebrow, visible even in this darkness.

Aragorn pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it in the direction of a low stool. He began working on the lacings of his breeches.

Legolas said nothing.

Swallowing, Aragorn let his breeches fall to the ground and stepped out of them. He was not sure being exposed like this in front of an angry Elf was _that _much fun. He knew Legolas' knife was sharp.

"Get into the water."

So he did.

It was warm. That was nice. Aragorn sat washing himself in front of Legolas who surveyed his every move, down to the very smallest one, unfortunately involving some attention paid to more intimate body parts. It was not that Legolas had not seen it before... but he was usually in a much brighter mood when things like these occurred. Cringing just a tiny bit before the hard gaze, Aragorn finished his business and then dared to look up at the Elf.

"Stand."

There was no chance the chilly night air would dry his skin but Legolas did not seem to care. Instead he nodded towards the pile of blankets and furs haphazardly thrown together on the ground. Dripping wet, Aragorn stepped out of the water and plodded over to his sleeping, eh, arrangement.

"Towel?" he dared to ask.

Legolas leisurely strode closer, eyes glued to his naked skin. In a slow, fluid motion he pulled off his own shirt leaving Aragorn to think that all this may turn out much better – or worse – than he had anticipated. With a perfect smirk in place, tinted with only a little evil, Legolas let his eyes travel all over Aragorn's body, taking his time to note every detail. Finally, he looked straight into Aragorn's eyes.

"No," he said in an unusually hoarse voice. "You know how much I like a wet Ranger."

He dropped his leggings.

Aragorn swallowed at the sight. It was not what he had expected, but it was true nonetheless: Legolas was very much aroused.

Catching Aragorn off guard, the Elf pushed him and he fell backwards with the world spinning around him. Legolas soon joined him, and with a persuasive shove, forced him face down upon the blankets. Before Aragorn knew exactly what was happening, he felt hands all over him, caressing his wet skin and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Legolas soon had him breathing deeply, trying to rein in his reeling senses but not managing much of this. It came as no great surprise when Aragorn felt himself swelling as Legolas' hands dove underneath his body in search of those newly washed intimate body parts.

"I want you." Legolas hiss as he caught hold of Aragorn's quickly hardening length made him push into his hand. "And I am going to have you."

No doubt about it.

Aragorn had no idea how Legolas' fingers could suddenly be slick with oil but all possible possibilities dutifully escaped him as he was stretched determinedly. He _could_ not help his groans and a very distant part of his mind hoped that every Hobbit, Éomer and Wizard were far, far away from the Fields of Pelennor in this moment.

Legolas suddenly stilled and bent down over him. He placed one burning kiss between his shoulder blades and then scraped his teeth against the skin.

"I am not going to die. And neither are you, heir of Elendil."

He thrust three fingers inside and Aragorn arched upwards desperately with arms trembling. Still some rebellious, idiotic part of him needed to point out the lack of logic.

"But I will..." He gave another groan as Legolas skilfully withdrew and nudged at his opening with his erection. "You know..."

His lover pushed. "No." And pushed some more. "No."

Aragorn's arms gave up and he tumbled down, bringing Legolas with him.

"I will just have to take you with me to Valinor."

Legolas set a ruthless pace and he thrust into Aragorn with a fervour the Man had seldom seen (or felt) before. For a while, all Aragorn could do was to not lose it and go mad.

"But..." he growled as he found some air, "how..."

Legolas buried himself deep once more with a forceful push.

"Watch me."

He pulled out and immediately drove inside again, and this time the thrust was angled and that was all Aragorn needed. He came, shaking violently, sure that he was shouting and if there were any still in the City under the influence of the black shadow of death, he had now resurrected them all.

Legolas continued pounding into him for another moment or two before he also gave up to greater powers and coated Aragorn's insides with searing hot liquid. He crashed down – in an elvish way – upon Aragorn and they lay panting for some time.

Somewhere in the aftermath, when a few of the stars had left his vision, Aragorn once more became aware of his surroundings. Legolas, that was, still inside him. More than content he lay still, utterly pleased to have his Elf back again.

He meant to retreat back into the bliss of doing-nothing-after-sexual-activities but Legolas was apparently of a different opinion. He raised himself up a little and made a suggestive circling motion with his hips. He was smiling, for sure. Evil creatures, Elves.

"Just watch me, lover. Just watch me."

It would be a long night.

**tbc**


	18. Tent, F o Pelennor, Gondor, B G, Mordor

**I hereby present to you the reason for why Aragorn is sometimes so very silent in the books:**

**He has a lot on his mind. **

**Chapter 18 – tent (same), Fields of Pelennor, Gondor, Black Gate, Mordor**

If Aragorn had any trouble moving about or sitting down the next day, it was due to the extensive amount of walking he had carried out on his healing mission yesterday.

Nothing else.

What did not help his cause was Legolas' smug, self-satisfied, grin he hid from no one, and Elrohir's loud-spoken – and often repeated – claim that he was now partly deaf because of some shout that had shook the camp around midnight.

Éomer had immediately volunteered to send out a troop of his best men to search the grounds for any vile attackers but Gandalf stopped him by a weird wriggling of his eyebrows. (Impressive, one had to admit.) Gimli did some grunting and vowed that any stray Orc would see their foul head hewn if they tried to disturb the coming (hehe) King's sleep once more.

The tent in which they were now all assembled was Aragorn's own and for reasons utterly unclear to him, he was not very comfortable with that. He kept on glancing over towards his bed (or "sleeping arrangement", as you may remember), unaccountably nervous that any traces of his and Legolas' (mostly Legolas') activities from the night before might show. It was hardly likely as he – ever the propagandist for cleanliness and spotlessness – cleverly had flipped the blankets over that morning. All the stains were perfectly invisible, now facing the ground.

What undoubtedly was hazardous, however, was that all his staring _could _inspire others. He alternated between checking his bed was still in order and glaring at Elladan, lest his brother should suddenly jump up and drag Legolas over to his blankets and claim him. Aragorn supposed this was not very likely either; rather, he was fairly certain it would not happen, but one could never be too sure in life. Elladan could be sneaky (sort of like Gollum, but less slimy and with a fainter interest in poking people) when he wished it and there was only one person Aragorn was interested in having in his bed, thank you very much.

...

Legolas. For the record.

"Sooo," said Gandalf wistfully as he surveyed them all. "We have learnt from Faramir that Frodo and Sam were in Ithilien only a few days ago and that they have chosen the path via the Morgul Vale."

_They were? _

They had?

The Ring-bearing Hobbit was still alive? Good for him.

Aragorn looked around and saw a couple of nods. He nodded too, quite vigorously, which earned him a quizzical glance from Legolas. He shrugged. Legolas blew him a kiss.

He blushed.

And shifted in his seat, which he regretted at once.

"… way, Sauron knows that this precious thing which he has lost has been found again, but..."

Gandalf kept on talking. He had pulled a grey cloak over his stunningly white robes but that fooled no one. Suddenly a bit self-conscious, Aragorn's eyes fell to his own coat, tattered and amazingly well-worn. He had tried his best to stitch together the fabric where it had been torn but he was just not gifted when it came to handle needle and thread. He supposed that when he became King of Gondor (yes, yes, _and _Arnor) he would have new clothes made. Legolas would like that, probably. A shame Boromir was not with them to inherit the coat.

"Aragorn?"

"Hmm?"

He looked up in surprise and as it turned out, all eyes had landed on him. Gandalf was leaning on his staff, his gaze piercingly sharp, and Elrohir looked like he was about to snicker in any moment.

Aragorn did not like it when Elrohir snickered. In fact, he remembered a day many years ago, when he returned from the...

"Aragorn?" A certain hint of authority had slipped into Gandalf's voice.

He cleared his throat. "Yes?"

""Do I not guess rightly, Aragorn..." the Wizard said slowly, "that you have shown yourself to him in the Stone of Orthanc?"

_To whom again?_

"Well," said Aragorn, shifting again in his seat and once more regretting it immediately. He ran a palm across his chin and desperately tried to collect his thoughts.

Then movement caught his eye as Legolas, from across the room, shaped a round object with his hands, using only air (to form the object with). Aragorn stared at him and briefly wondered if he had gone mad, but then Legolas' eyes widened greatly before he covered one of them with a hand that only a second ago helped support the weight of the nonexistent round object... Or whatever.

Not that Legolas was any less beautiful, but surely this was creepy?

It was only when the Elf finally mouthed the word '_palantír' _that insight flashed through Aragorn at the speed of a hungry Nazgûl.

"Ah!" he said, turning to Gandalf. "I did so ere we rode from the Hornburg. I wrestled with its evil and had the Eye's attention for a while," he announced proudly.

Gandalf nodded and the tension around his eyebrows lessened somewhat. And then he resumed his talking.

"...doubt will be growing...keep his Eye from his true peril...empty his land..."

Aragorn's eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Last night had _not _been particularly restful. Not that he complained, mind you – he never complained when Legolas thrust deep into him with full force, and made him scream and writhe, and reduced him to a mere puddle of burning hot desire...

A not-so-discreet twitch that _might_ have taken place in the area of his very private body parts accompanied Gandalf's tremendously long exposition.

"...make ourselves the bait...small hope...a black battle far from living lands..."

Aragorn quickly crossed his legs, tugging his coat closer around him. Unfortunately, Evil had not stopped harassing him after he covered the palantír, for as he looked up, he happened to lock eyes with Legolas whose mouth was slightly open and who let his tongue tip travel tantalisingly over his lower lip.

With flushed cheeks, Aragorn tried to avert his gaze but it proved absolutely impossible as the Elf leaned forward just a little and let his fingers ghost over the fastenings of his tunic.

Aragorn was vaguely aware of Éomer speaking up for the first time (that he had noticed, anyway) but what the young Marshal said was completely lost on him as Legolas flipped his hair behind his shoulder nonchalantly and sent him a long, smouldering look that set the Man's said body parts afire.

Infinitely happy he had not gifted Boromir with his coat, Aragorn tried to concentrate on the debate going on around him but it became more and more difficult as terribly inappropriate ideas awoke in his mind:

Legolas on his back with legs nicely parted.

Aragorn straddling his hips.

Legolas on his knees in front of him, begging to be, _profoundly_, explored. (Elf made to pay for that scream Aragorn had emitted last night.)

Legolas tongue exploring where, no doubt, Aragorn would let him, and only him, explore.

Colour steadily flowed to his face as Aragorn was forced to focus entirely on banishing these thoughts instead of listening to all of those people who were _not_ Elves (well, except for Elladan and Elrohir who obviously _were _Elves but that was not the point) and were _not _his chosen bed partners and _apparently _thought that fighting some 'black battle' was more interesting than the flash of skin he spotted as Legolas reclined in his chair and somehow magically made his tunic open a bit near the neckline.

"As Aragorn has begun, so we must go on."

_Huh?_

With extreme will power Aragorn dragged his eyes away from his lover and saw Gandalf towering beside him.

Thinking it was better to say something – _anything_ – rather than having his name repeated over and over again by an angry Wizard, he mastered his expression with what he hoped was success. "Yes?"

This seemed to go down well with Gandalf for he brightened visibly. "It is our duty," he announced to all the assembled. "And better so than to perish nonetheless – as we surely shall if we sit here – and know as we die that no new age shall be."

_Die? Who had said anything about dying?_

Suddenly quite uncomfortable (in another way, naturally), Aragorn sought out Éomer in the modest crowd, but the young man stood stone-faced and grim and offered no explanation whatsoever.

"What say the sons of Elrond?" queried Gandalf. "Elrohir?"

The dark-haired Elf tilted his head to the side and frowned. "Pray speak again, Mithrandir, for I heard you not." He smirked evilly at Aragorn.

The Wizard sighed exasperatedly but then he stabbed the ground with his staff and as the loud _'thump!' _reverberated in the air around them, memories of a dark night spent in the Moria mines flooded Aragorn's mind.

"Enough!" said Gandalf sternly. "I will not accept any folly at this last stage where death and life are intimately entwined."

At the word 'intimately', Legolas straightened in his chair but looked altogether innocent.

"So, what say the brethren?"

Elrohir relented and nodded. "From the North we came with this purpose, and from Elrond our father we brought this very counsel. We will not turn back."

Elladan inclined his head at his brother's words but said nothing.

"As for myself," said Éomer seriously, "I have little knowledge of these deep matters, but I need it not." He looked over at Aragorn and his face softened a little. "All I know is that my friend Aragorn succoured me and my people, so I will aid him when he calls. I will go."

Not that Aragorn had called, but hey, who payed attention to detail anyway?

Now Gandalf turned to Legolas, his eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling of the tent, but he still managed to wear an expression of deep suspicion. "Thranduilion?"

Legolas beamed at the Wizard. "Of course I shall go," he said brightly. "We stand at the end of our road, and I would not flee now. Besides," he said thoughtfully, his fair face darkening slightly, "I would make sure Elessar is _secure_."

If Aragorn was not mistaken, Legolas briefly glared at Éomer.

It was such a lovely combination: the looming threat of death and a jealous Elf.

– xxx –

"It could have rained."

Aragorn turned in his saddle, this being the sixth day since they set out from Minas Tirith, and offered Legolas a neat glower. How he had ended up leading a sorry army northwards to the Morannon, he still did not know, and, truth be told, he already thought he had done enough riding for two lifetimes to be quite content now.

"Rained?"

Legolas nodded. "As in drops of water falling from clouds. In the sky." He glanced upwards briefly as if making sure Aragorn still knew where the sky was located.

"That would have made things worse?" He knew he was being rude but he just could not stop himself.

His lover only shrugged. "I am simply saying..."

"We are marching to our death in any case," Aragorn continued to grumble. "A little rain would not have made a difference."

"It was not me who agreed to this," Legolas defended himself. "If you had listened closer to what Gandalf was saying, maybe we would not be here."

Aragorn stared at him incredulously. "If _I _had listened?!" he blurted out, catching Elladan, who rode with Elrohir a few feet to his right, eyeing him suspiciously. "_You_ were rather busy preventing me from listening!"

"I was not _preventing _you from listening." Legolas smiled sweetly. "I was providing you with options."

"Options…" muttered Aragorn. "I know very well what you were doing."

With what looked only like a light shift in the saddle, Legolas urged his horse nearer Aragorn's. "Lover," he practically purred in the Man's ear, "are you complaining?"

"No!" Schooling his features, Aragorn cleared his throat. "No," he said once more, a bit calmer this time.

"Then why do you blame me for this?"

"I am not blaming you for anything," sighed Aragorn. "I am just not convinced that coaxing this battle from Sauron is a spectacular way to proceed."

Legolas ignored the politics. "If you are not accusing me of leading you… astray, shall we say, then why would you say I was the one preventing you from listening at the debate?"

Aragorn took the rains in one hand only to be able to fling one arm out exasperatedly. "Because you…" he frowned, "looked at me. You know."

"I cannot look at you?"

"Of course you can! But it distracted me…" He admitted silently to himself that it sounded less than good.

"I distract you?" Legolas' clear blue eyes were wide with completely feigned surprise.

Glaring, Aragorn set out to clarify this once and for all. "If you had not _looked _at me – you know what I mean – I would not have been prevented from speaking up."

First, a new wave of surprise washed over Legolas face, but then a smirk caught hold of his lips and his eyes narrowed noticeably. "Lover…" he murmured, leaning in closer. "How shall you have it? You say I prevented you from speaking up, is that so?"

"Yes!" Aragorn exclaimed, somewhat more forcefully that even he had expected.

But Legolas only shook his head, though the smirk was still in place. "It is indeed clear you are distracted… I am quite certain you initially accused me of preventing you from _listening_. If you are to blame me, Aragorn, please plan your attack."

"You..!" he clamped his mouth shut.

_Elves…_

His lover let the smirk blossom into a bright smile, and he pressed a quick kiss to Aragorn's cheek. "Are you not glad it is not raining?"

– xxx –

Even as Aragorn gloomily looked upon the Black Gate of Mordor, Legolas' kiss still caused his skin to tingle. He was not used to this open display of their relationship and very seldom did they acknowledge their… attachment to each other in public (except for that kiss in front of the entire Dúnedain army and that bloody Door of the Dead). And _that _was still a memory that made Aragorn blush when he thought too hard about it.

So he did not.

Wise, as he was.

Nevertheless, now that he was finally before the iron doors that shielded the rampart of Cirith Gorgor from view, he found himself reflecting upon that very kiss. It was weird. But then, what was not weird in this world?

Besides, all was silent around him, and all they really were doing was waiting, so…

"_Elessar!" _Legolas' hiss broke through his reverie and he blinked. The Elf was discreetly nodding towards Gandalf who had straightened in his saddle and with an unreadable gaze, was facing the Gate.

Drawing himself up, Aragorn shook off any lingering memories and looked around. They had arranged their host before the Morannon as best they could, having no true faith in this Task of Folly anyway. When he saw Gandalf gently kicking Shadowfax into motion, he followed swiftly as he deemed it may look good to join the Wizard.

As said Wizard was old and Aragorn _was _meant to become King.

Legolas and Gimli rode with him; the Dwarf looked as grim as one of his own beloved blocks of stone. Éomer joined them also, and Elladan and Elrohir followed suit. There might have been a few more horses (with important riders on them) but Aragorn was too focused on the Lands of Evil that loomed before him. (And Legolas.)

Not that Legolas technically loomed before him, he was just there. Which was, decided Aragorn, a good thing.

As cries rang up from their little host (something sounding like: "Come forth! Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Justice shall be done upon him. For wrongfully he has made war upon Gondor and wrested its lands. Therefore the King of Gondor demands that he should atone for his evils, and depart then for ever. Come forth!") Aragorn idly pondered if Legolas looming before him could be considered a good thing also, or if it would simply be unnerving?

He tried to think of a time when Legolas had indeed loomed – in a nice way – and found he was more or less at loss. The Elf normally loomed when he was angry, like that night in the tent after the healing mission was accomplished.

Or maybe that could not be called 'looming' as such?

(Around him now was the rolling of great drums.)

Maybe that had been more like plain 'standing'? Considering it in depth like this, Aragorn was quite sure Legolas had only been standing.

He did not know if that made him slightly disappointed or not. Perhaps it would be nice to have Legolas loom before him once in a while? Exciting even?

Hrm, arousing?

At _this_ thought, Aragorn blushed.

He was vaguely aware of some debate going on around him, and he could see Gandalf immersing himself in it which was just as good as he often seemed like he needed something to do.

What rhymed with 'loom'?

'Doom' of course, but that was too obvious. 'Broom'?

'Bloom'… 'tomb'?

Tricky…

'Swoon'? Definitely.

_If _Legolas' looming proved to be arousing, then 'swoon' might come in handy. Aragorn was not too sure he wanted to be known as someone who swooned time and time again simply because his lover did something that… interested him, but the words did rhyme and seemed to fit nicely together.

Gandalf was still talking and there was some confused movement around them, and suddenly the bright light of the Wizard's white robes shone forth.

Giving himself a mental shake, Aragorn looked again at his surroundings and saw the foulest creature that ever had been used as a horse, and a man, robed in black, atop it. Evil did not only seep from his from, but practically flowed from him and affected all those nearby by its absolute darkness. But as Gandalf came towards him, he recoiled and Gandalf seized from him a few items that Aragorn was sure he had seen before but could not place at once.

"These we will take!" the Wizard cried. "In memory of our friend. But as for your terms we reject them utterly. We did not come here to waste words in treating with Sauron, still less with one of his slaves. Begone!"

Aragorn watched, fascinated, as this… person… messenger… filthy-looking-bad-individual gave a strangled cry and galloped madly back to Cirith Gorgor.

Then the rolling of the drums began anew and fires leaped up all around them. Still feeling a bit dazed, Aragorn stared at the Gates as they swung open wide and revealed a great host of… well, more filthy-looking-bad-individuals ready to fight.

It looked bad.

Suddenly he felt a cool hand closing around his own.

"Love?"

He turned and noticed Legolas beside him.

"You are paying attention, right?"

Only slightly insulted, Aragorn nodded. "We are being attacked."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "I dare say…"

It was in that moment the full impact of what was happening struck Aragorn hard. Hastily, he brought Legolas' hand to his lips and kissed it. "Listen," he said quickly, "can I ask something of you?"

The Elf frowned but looked interested.

"Could you," he continued, now a little less sure of himself – and with the threat of a heavy blush fingering him. "Could you – when this is over – please…"

Legolas raised another eyebrow.

"Could you please loom before me sometime and make it arousing?" The words tumbled out of him and it sounded even more horrible now than when they were still stuck in his head. "Please…" he added for no reason at all.

To his great surprise, Legolas smiled shamelessly. "I like it when you beg, Elessar," he murmured contentedly. His hand released Aragorn's and wandered up his chest. It settled on his chin and brought his face close to his own.

"_Legolas!"_ hissed Aragorn. "Not in front of Sauron!"

But Legolas cared not at all it seemed. He caught Aragorn's mouth in a kiss that was so non-chaste that it should have been illegal.

Or not.

"Let us get this over and done with," Legolas hummed against his lips and snuck his tongue out once more.

Aragorn really had no choice but to suck on it.

"It does not look good," he muttered, referring to the army that was marching up to them, and not to Legolas' tongue.

"Oh, worry not lover," Legolas smiled. "It could have been worse. It could have rained."

Then there was battle.

**TBC**


	19. Tent same, probably, Ithilien, Gondor

**So, I'm back at university and studying is terribly time-consuming; I don't have as much time to write as I would like, and I didn't answer all your reviews last time. So, just a quick word to everyone who has commented on this story: I love you! Seriously, I do. If that's scary, please start reading all over again, ignoring this paragraph. **

**The poetry is for ziggy3. I'm sorry it didn't turn out better ;) **

**Aralas, I live by your suggestions. Although this was not what I had planned initially. And not you either, I'm guessing. **

**Sincerest apologies to the Jellybean for the delay. Thou shalt have Man and Elf. (Though no haystack.)**

*****

**Chapter 19 – Tent (same, probably), Ithilien, Gondor**

_There was armour gleaming bright,_

_but most Orc-blades were for the fight._

_Hence not shining as ours did,_

_no doubt that was what Sauron bid.*_

_Come what may, this bloody day – _

_oh, woe, the Morannon!_

_We were ready for the blow,_

_and spirits, they were gloomy low._

_Yet our task was crystal clear:_

_to rid the world of doom and fear._

_Come what may, this bloody day – _

_oh, woe, the Morannon!_

_The gates were large and utterly closed,_

_but before them Gandalf posed,_

_ever talkative and white,_

_though the day was far from bright._

_Come what may, this bloody day – _

_oh, woe, the Morannon!_

_Time dragged on, as did talk,_

_but then the speech came to a halt._

_To rolling drums and fires' leap,_

_we were then in Darkness' keep._

_Come what may, this bloody day – _

_oh, woe, the Morannon!_

_Out flowed the soldiers and the beasts,_

_preparing for a ghastly feast,_

_we raised our swords and cried or cries,_

_and then beneath the skies –_

_we fought._

_Come what may, this bloody day – _

_oh, woe, the Morannon!_

_When all was lost and hope had dwindled,_

_then Sauron he was amazingly swindled!_

_For the Eagles came and the Hobbit cast_

_the Ring into the fire at last._

_Come what may, this bloody day – _

_oh, woe, the Morannon!_

_The world collapsed then into chaos,_

_but for the Evil there was no pathos,_

_for Sauron's rule was over and ended,_

_and that was nice and quite splendid._

_Come what may, this bloody day – _

_oh, woe, the Morannon!_

_Oh, woe, the Morannon!_

_*_(No one has ever found any evidence proving that the Evil Lord ever cared about what his soldiers actually looked like, not mentioning the, hrm, "aesthetic design" – or lack thereof – of their blades.)

– xxx –

So... That was that. Then.

He supposed.

Great.

Could he go home now?

It was all a bit confusing. And all had happened rather quickly, so Aragorn had decided he was entitled to some qualified Pondering Time by himself. It was a bit of an anticlimax, this war business that had begun with the Fellowship stuff which initially originated in the Ring thing, which was a really old affair.

You know, lots of action... battles, Orcs, occasional stolen moments with Elf, weird Wizards, poetic Marshals... another stolen moment with Elf... (Not to mention the talkative Second Elf.) People dying on you (Boromir the coat-admirer)... Hobbits running hither and thither whether you approved or not. There were grumpy Dwarves and mysterious message-sending Elf Ladies that even _encouraged _you to spend some more stolen time with Elf.

Then there were Kings (alright, one King) who were (was) trapped in the net of vicious lies woven by a Wormtongue person (who would _ever _have guessed that such people even existed?) and who was saved by Gandalf revived. (What an extraordinarily creepy thing that had been really!) And more battles...

More Elf... And spooky Dead Individual-Idiots watching you. And yeah, then there were brothers... looking at Elf. At least one of them and that was _not _appreciated.

And now Sauron was dead.

Just like that.

Poof.

It was late evening and they were camping. No surprises there. But they were in Ithilien and that was pretty nice. It smelt good... flowery and such.

But he felt a bit empty where he was sitting in his tent all alone, staring at the oil lamp. They had been on the road, so to speak, for some time after all and it had been... messy, to say the least. They could have, you know... died.

So he guessed he had been a bit insensitive... regarding the whole death affair. Not concerning Sauron for he had never harboured any wish to form any kind of relationship with _him_, not even after having looked into the palantír. Evil Darkness had never been his thing. Aragorn's, that was... It was definitely Sauron's thing – or he would not have made such a name for himself as he had. Regarding Evil Darkness. You know.

Anyway.

Concerning Legolas. The argument at Pelargir had been a most sordid affair really and Aragorn supposed it _was _his fault. But the Sea Longing Issue had evaded him completely and of course he did not want Legolas to sail! That was insane. He planned on living his life as King of Gondor (yes, yes, _and _Arnor) with Legolas at his side. He had even considered asking Arwen to maybe... well... assist in a quite delicate matter... in some way. He had not worked out all the details yet.

Anyway. Perhaps he should say he was sorry? For being cold hearted and tactless... Yes. He ought to do that.

Tricky.

They had already made up. Or, Legolas had taken matters into his own hands and straightened things out between them, but they had not _talked. _And Aragorn did not plan on his future rule to end after five days with his death. No, he meant to live an awfully long time – with Legolas as Consort or Partner in Kingship or Other Half of King or whatever it would be called – and he wanted no shadows from the past invading at some point in a blissful future, bent on destroying it all.

He was about to get up and go in search of said Elf when there was a rustling behind him and the entrance flap was lifted. Upon turning, Aragorn wished he had made some, tiny, attempt at washing up for he was hardly fit to be seen, but then he supposed he had looked more or less like a walking pile of mud since they left Rivendell. _That _might be his thing, but adaption to circumstances was occasionally wise.

His heart sank as he watched Legolas slip inside. As always, he had been given no time to prepare, no time to choose his words and now they would all get stuck in his throat – and he would probably blush. Mud, stammering and blushing all at once was never a winning concept.

Legolas had washed, of course. And he had re-braided his hair and changed into a dark blue tunic and black leggings that he must have borrowed. It made him look very un-Wood-elvish but the change was not unpleasant.

"Aragorn?"

If anyone could lean against a tent without it giving way, it was Legolas.

"Yes?"

"How are you doing?"

Legolas was being polite.

That could be interpreted in several different ways, half of them Aragorn did not wish to consider.

"Will you sit?" he asked instead, trying to take his mind off the most gruesome suggestions his mind charitably provided him with.

Legolas gracefully strode up to him and drooped down upon the heap of blankets that made up Aragorn's bed (see chapters 17 and 18 for further information on the sleeping arrangements of the coming – still funny – King).

The Elf said nothing more and instead his gaze too landed on the oil lamp before them. They sat like this for some time while Aragorn was very conscious of his breathing and was quite convinced that his thundering heartbeat could be heard in the topmost room of the Tower in Minas Tirith.

There was movement outside the tent but no one entered. Footfall, dulled by the grass, mingled with low chatter that sometimes seeped inside but no one was really rejoicing. Not yet. Aragorn felt the first stirrings of a headache behind his eyes and he wished he could lie down, though knowing that he ought not – partly because it would look like an invitation and partly because they had things to discuss, he and Legolas. Or maybe that was only one reason? In any case, he remained seated.

In the end, he could take it no more.

"So..." he said.

Legolas showed some extraordinarily patience and did not comment.

"Well." He took a deep breath – eyes still glued to the lamp – and made ready to face his doom. "I am sorry."

Still his lover was quiet.

"It has been rather confusing, all of this..." admitted Aragorn without looking up. "All the fighting, and the threat of the end of Middle-earth and Orcs and things... And I simply had no spare thought for the sea issue." He fell silent, feeling even more insensitive now that he had worded his heartlessness.

When Legolas _finally _spoke up, he did so in a very low voice.

"Aragorn..." he said, "...you think too much, that is your problem." He sounded contemplative. "But I confess it hurt me."

Could he not have disagreed? Said that he had not minded at all and that, in fact, he was glad Aragorn had not noticed, um, the... Sea.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Legolas was the quicker one. He placed a finger across Aragorn's lips and somehow managed to urge him to look up.

"But no, Elladan did not comfort me in the way you seem to think he was."

Ah, Elf was being attentive.

_Well, he would dearly wish to!_

Swallowing this protest of Truth, Aragorn only grumbled inwardly.

"He is a good friend," continued Legolas as if Elladan had never given him a once-over – or a twice-over, or a thousandth-over....

_And he wants to be an even better one._

"I have no romantic feelings towards your brother. Neither of them."

"Elrohir sleeps only with females," muttered Aragorn against the finger.

A smile crossed Legolas' face. "See? That makes it pointless for me to pursue him."

Suddenly watchful, Aragorn glared at him. "So if he were to change his preferences you might consider going after him?"

Legolas exhaled slowly and his smile faltered a bit as frustration clearly washed over him. (It was unfair – _he _had no brothers who had ever shown a particular interest in Aragorn.) "No. I would not."

"Then do not make it sound like it..."

"I did not." Legolas removed his finger and cupped Aragorn's cheek instead. He ran his thumb over the Man's lower lip and shook his head. "You are not listening."

"I _am_! You were saying that it was pointless to go after Elrohir since he will not look twice at you due to the fact that you are male. But you did not deny any attraction to him."

Legolas raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side. His blue eyes searched Aragorn's face for long moments before a new smile tugged at his lips. "Indeed, Elessar... Now and then I underestimate you."

He would make no remark. He would keep his mouth shut.

Now was not the time to start another argument.

For, of course, Legolas was right: he did _not _give Aragorn enough credit sometimes.

"You could say you are sorry..." he grumbled.

But Legolas only leaned in a placed a soft kiss on his lips. "I thought that was your mission tonight?"

"I have already asked you to forgive me." His disloyal body was looking for some more of that nice contact. "But you could have said something."

"I am an Elf. We were making for the Sea... or water at least. Do you see any connection?" Legolas too was edging closer, his hand leaving Aragorn's face and trailing down his chest.

"I was busy," he protested meekly as inquisitive fingers began undoing the fastenings of his tunic. He reciprocated by running his hands up Legolas' thighs, almost all the way up to his groin.

"With planning the battle..?" Legolas was slipping his hand underneath the tunic and he fingered the shirt underneath quite skilfully.

_Battle?_

There might have been a battle at some point but he had to admit to rather hazy memories as he undid Legolas belt which kept his tunic in place. Apparently the Elf had bothered with a minimum of clothing for there was only the tunic to be found (and the leggings naturally, but there is after all a huge difference between an upper and a lower body, and right now Aragorn was inspecting Legolas _upper _body).

"Hmm..?" he eloquently offered just as Legolas yanked the shirt upwards and found warm skin. The Elf's mouth descending on his own ripped any possibility of a coherent reply from his lips.

"With the Host of the Dead..." Legolas murmured into the kiss and judging by the way he promptly deepened it, he rather enjoyed the shiver that ran down Aragorn's spine. "The ones who were watching us... at the Gilrain."

It was wrong.

It was so wrong.

It was so, _so,_ wrong that – secure in a tent like this – Aragorn should find the idea of a Dead Individual watching them while they... you know, were intimate, arousing. But he did. And if Legolas did not wish to be swiftly carried off to the shore to see himself dumped into the Sea, he would never, _never_, breathe a word of it to anyone else.

He had better make that clear.

"I..." he began, but then Legolas pulled him close and eased them down onto the blankets. "If you..."

His neck was being kissed into oblivion (if necks indeed could be affected thusly) and he found it very difficult to arrange his thoughts. Now with the belt gone, the blue tunic was easily swept away from Legolas' – upper – body and suddenly there was naked skin all over. (Hooray!) He ran his palm across it, causing Legolas to buck against him and heat to rapidly spread in Aragorn's body.

"You were saying?" Legolas' murmur sent ripples of lust chasing each other through him.

He adjusted his position slightly so that they lay curled up together, facing each other. If he believed that this would make it easier to talk some kind of sense into his Elf, he was mistaken. After having been properly kissed, Legolas let go of him briefly so that he could divest himself of both tunic and shirt.

"Listen," he tried once more. "The Dead..."

A warm tongue explored one of his newly exposed nipples and he arched into the touch.

"Yes, the Dead..." hummed Legolas in what was now clearly a devilish fashion. "They were watching us... They saw me leaning back against the boulder and they saw you when you pressed your hand against my flesh." Without hesitation, he caught Aragorn's hand and rubbed his palm against the growing bulge in his leggings.

So overwhelmed by this account of what he had already done (and most probably was about to do again, if he had interpreted the signs correctly) Aragorn found his own length pounding in response.

He would kill Legolas if this got out.

No kidding.

"You remember, _meleth_, how you sank to your knees and took me in your mouth?"

With a groan, Aragorn tore Legolas' lacings open and went straight for the goal. The Elf gave a soft moan as his swollen length was encircled by Aragorn's hands and his arm came up to wrap around him and hold the Man in place.

Talk about underestimating! Aragorn was not exactly planning on leaving now.

Nevertheless, he began stroking. "Tell me," he whispered hoarsely though it was already bad as it was.

A lazy smile settled on Legolas' lips. "You took me so deep inside, Elessar..." he said in a voice that by one tremble betrayed him. "You sucked so hard, and you touched yourself."

Overcome by a force that must have been equal to Sauron's Ring-desire, Aragorn suddenly let go of Legolas and mindlessly pushed down his leggings further. For once, giving the Elf no time to respond, he ripped open his own breeches and fervently felt around for the oil. Legolas' hands were busy roaming over his skin, but when his fingers finally found the vial, he pushed Legolas onto his side and then immediately joined him, spooning up behind him.

Never before had Aragorn coated his fingers so quickly and it seemed like seconds afterwards that he had Legolas nicely stretched and writhing in his arms.

"Tell me," he repeated as he nudged the tantalising opening with his arousal.

Legolas pushed back, giving an encouraging moan and Aragorn no reason for not pushing inside. Which he did, gladly.

For a moment (maybe two) he was too engulfed by the heat that crashed down upon to him to care whether the Dead had watched or not, but as he gained some control again, he repeated his request. "Tell me."

Legolas caught his hand and guided it to his groin once more. "Touch me," he ordered huskily, "just like you..."

Well, that sort of did it. He took Legolas' swollen length in his hand and simultaneously began thrusting into him. Pressing against Aragorn's chest, the Elf rocked with him, and no way was Aragorn going to keep quiet when he came. He ardently alternately wished and prayed that Elladan and any remaining Dead Individual (if any of them had decided to stay behind), would be close enough to hear him.

Legolas was tensing up in his arms and his eyes were closed. Aragorn pressed a kiss to his cheek (sort of – could have been temple... or neck) and angled his thrusts, wildly rejoicing when Legolas cried out and spilled his seed all over Aragorn's hand. Letting himself finally go, Aragorn also came with a shout that he hoped said _everything._

– xxx –

"Love... are those your latest... poems?"

Legolas lay stretched out upon the blankets, not minding the chill at all (i.e. flashing more naked skin than absolutely necessary). Now he reached out with a lazy hand and picked up the stack of poorly treated parchment from the ground.

Aragorn opened an eye uncomfortably. "Yes."

This was not good.

Sitting up, Legolas began leafing through the sheets and soon enough he sported a neat frown. "Aragorn..." he said slowly, "I do believe we have had this discussion before, but I still do not think the m-words rhyme particularly well with the n-words."

_What?_

Opening the second (and the last) eye, Aragorn made ready to defend. "Come again?"

Legolas briefly abandoned the poetry and sent him a smouldering glance. "Oh, I would love to, Elessar, but we need to clear this up to begin with. There is a note here that says 'loom' and 'swoon'..?"

Aha! Well, he could answer for that!

"Yes," said Aragorn matter-of-factly, "I see a most appropriate connection between those words."

"Apparently." Legolas gave a shake of his fair head. "Please, Aragorn, what letter does 'loom' end with? And 'swoon'?

_Okay. _

_Okay!_

Got it.

Aragorn glared and snatched the parchments from him. "Fine," he grumbled. "I will think of something else." Then he could not stop himself.

Really, he could not.

Must have been lingering Sauron-Darkness-Evil.

"You know," he said rather harshly, "I am sick and tired of watching Elladan stare at you like you were one of the Valar (Legolas made an elegant sweep of his head) and you do not tell him to stop. And at Pelargir you were riding together and talking, and standing close and you would not tell me of your troubles and then when we finally came to the City, Gandalf sent me to those damned Houses of Healing and all we did there was to talk (and talk and talk and talk – and then Ioreth did some more talking). I was trying to save lives while not thinking too much about you for you always distract me and I was angry and I felt lonely, and then you were in my tent and everything was forgotten. Just like that."

Yes.

Legolas was staring. At least his eyes had widened.

"Aragorn," he said while edging closer cautiously. "_You_ were _talking _in the Houses of Healing?"

Aragorn still glared, albeit in a more breathless way now. "So what?"

"You gave orders?" There was a glimmer in Legolas' eyes.

"I suppose..."

Smiling far too much, the Elf leaned down and placed a teasing kiss on his lips. "I like that idea," he murmured. "I like it very much."

Somehow not convinced that all had been settled, Aragorn found that his arms were encircling Legolas' waist. "You do?"

"Very, very much..." Legolas caught his lips with his own and this kiss was long and promising. "Seriously, love," he whispered into Aragorn's mouth, 'chaos' and 'pathos'..."

**TBC**


	20. Tent, Ithilien, outdoors, also Ithilien

**The twentieth chapter! Now isn't that grand? **

**To any reader that still might be holding their breath: start breathing and read! ;) **

*****

**Chapter 20 – tent, somewhere in Ithilien, outdoors, also Ithilien. **

The problem with Elrohir (or one of the – very many – problems with Elrohir) was that he liked mornings. Early mornings. And not only did he _like_ them – he positively _enjoyed _them! As though they were something enjoyable to be… enjoyed. Aragorn had never seen the point of that. Or them. The mornings, that was. Elrohir could be useful (at times) and so he would not go so far as to say that he saw no point of _him_. But, the fact of the matter was that Elrohir liked early mornings and that was simply… not fun.

Like now, for instance.

"Estel?"

Aragorn squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tried to disappear beneath the blankets, something which proved heartbreakingly difficult since Legolas had somehow claimed them for his own during the night. Probably it would have been easier had Aragorn acquired some of Gandalf's talent for magic, but alas, he had not and nor did Elrohir seem like he was about to change his mind.

"Little brother!"

A determined elbow stabbed Aragorn's chest.

"_Ouch!"_

"That is you." Legolas sounded awfully matter-of-factly for such an early hour.

"What?" Aragorn glared while still trying to keep his eyes shut. (He compromised: glare at lover-Elf, ignore brother-Elf.)

"He is talking to you."

"I can hear that," muttered Aragorn while frantically rubbing the place where Legolas' elbow had inserted itself between his ribs. Or so it felt. "You needed not kill me to get my attention."

Legolas shuffled around beside him. "I have not killed you, Aragorn. Or you would not be speaking with me. Or breathing – I can hear you breathing under there."

Aragorn was caught by the overwhelming urge to completely deny this but he reckoned that it would be a claim too easy to dispel.

"Legolas are you in there?" Elrohir was calling through the canvas of the tent. "Are you awake?"

"No!" called Aragorn.

"Yes!" called Legolas brightly.

After some rustling, his brother's voice sounded much sharper in Aragorn's ears.

"Estel? What are you doing?" Elrohir was mildly confused apparently.

"Sleeping," grumbled Aragorn. "You know, the war is ended and I really think I am entitled to some sleep."

"Well…" said Elrohir. "I might have believed you, had I not found you entwined with Legolas and all… undressed."

Pulling at the blanket did not really help since Legolas had accumulated it underneath him in a way that helped not Aragorn at all in this moment. "We are not entwined," he said.

"Not at the moment perhaps," said his brother, "but I have my imagination to aid me, Estel. And judging by your present position, I say you need some imagination as well. That _cannot _be a pose in which you mean to pleasure Legolas."

"I am not pleasuring Legolas!" cried Aragorn, generously enlightening the rest of their company and a large portion of the people of Ithilien as well.

"Not at the moment perhaps," purred Legolas next to him, "but you were doing just fine last night, love."

A shame the people of Ithilien did not hear _that_. And Elladan.

Aragorn opened his mouth to say something appropriate (simultaneously hoping that particular response would come to him as he began speaking) when he heard a deep, rumbling voice from outside the tent.

"Oh, master Hobbit, we had better not enter yet."

"No, we had better not," answered a second voice, much more high-pitched. "We would not wish to disturb those big folks in their morning activities."

There was a pause and then the shrill, quite piercing (and altogether completely cruel) voice returned:

"Do you not think, Gimli, that it is very kind of them to inform us of their doings? And with such fervour too."

A set of badly swallowed giggles floated through the canvas wall, neatly accompanied by a booming laughter. Aragorn darkly contemplated reaching for Andúril.

"Now Merry, what do you say we find something to eat? Before duty calls us to the King's side..."

More giggles. "An excellent idea on such a fine morning!"

The voices trailed off and Aragorn returned to his body. He opened his eyes slowly, indeed finding that Legolas was stretched out atop the majority of the blankets and that he still was incredibly undressed. Only a strategically placed corner of a blanket enabled him to engage in conversation with Elrohir without blushing. He did not look half as mortified as Aragorn felt. Elrohir was standing before them, carrying what looked like a heavy bundle of a dark, bluish fabric.

"What do you want?" Aragorn asked at last.

Elrohir smiled. Evilly. "I have brought you a cloak. Today you will honour the Hobbits' deeds with a ceremony."

– xxx –

"My lord!" Éomer spun around and offered a bright smile. "This is a blessed morning! Already the rumour upon the wind has it that the light inherent in the line of the Kings shone forth in the world ere sunrise. "

Aragorn nodded while trying to get comfortable inside the enormous cloak. "Hmm..."

"A new morning at the dawning of a new time, a new age," continued Éomer as if he were writing a book.

"A new age," repeated Aragorn to show that he was listening. If he knew no better, he would have guessed that Elrohir had borrowed the cloak from one of those stone Trolls that Bilbo the adventurous Hobbit had encountered in a wood some seventy years ago. Many were the times that Bilbo had told his tale in the Hall of Fire in Imladris. As the months...

"The fourth!" exclaimed Éomer as the sun slipped out from behind a cloud quite surprisingly. (It was, after all, some time since the world had looked this bright and cheerful.) "The new King's new Age." He looked terribly proud of himself.

Éomer was being quite bright and cheerful himself.

Something which apparently did not clash with his pride of a wording constructed so – seemingly – effortlessly.

But then, there was no way of knowing that the young Marshal had not spent his entire night awake, trying the words out before he presented them to Aragorn.

_Sneaky they were, the Eorlings. _

Aragorn might have preferred Éomer keeping his words to himself.

His fidgeting with the gigantic cloak stopped for a moment though, as he actually considered this. It was not a bad idea. It seemed quite fitting after all. As a matter of fact, it was a very, very good idea.

The wording – not Éomer not shutting up.

Right.

Anyway.

"Yes," he said, squaring his shoulders a little. "The Fourth Age shall begin with the coming of the King."

A rhyme! Just like that!

He was _so _much more accomplished than the Marshal.

"It shall be an age of hope and prosperity, my lord." Éomer gave a small bow. "There shall be light in the peoples' eyes once more."

"Right," said Aragorn. He glanced around the large camp. "Have you seen Gandalf?" He knew nothing about the upcoming ceremony and would appreciate some basic information at least. Now that this new age/new light-thing had been sorted out.

"He sits with the Ring-bearer and his servant."

Frodo and Sam.

Hobbit One and Hobbit Two.

"They are wounded?"

Éomer shook his head. "I know not."

At least they were alive – than was more than anyone had ever expected. Not that the Hobbits had been informed.

"Ah, Legolas!"

Aragorn looked up at Éomer's cry (basically to see if it was totally random or if it did carry some truth). Legolas was indeed approaching them; the sunlight was caressing his fair hair and that was in itself a vision brilliant enough to make peoples' eyes glimmer. Aragorn would send Legolas to every house in Middle-earth should his reign prove a disappointment, and Éomer would get all that light of his.

Or not.

He liked having Legolas to himself.

The Elf elegantly glided up to his side and smiled. "You are looking very royal, Elessar." He acknowledged Éomer with a nod.

Aragorn was feeling like a mountain. Due to the cloak.

Size wise.

Because of the size of the cloak.

We are not talking any other sizes.

Of things.

Aragorn was certainly thinking only of the cloak.

"It is very big," he said.

Legolas raised an eyebrow.

"The cloak," Aragorn clarified.

"I know," smirked Legolas. "We are acquainted."

A bit of heat was working its way across Aragorn's cheeks though he _really _did see no reason for it, and he cleared his throat. "You have seen it before?"

"Oh, I have." Legolas moved a little closer and ran a hand down Aragorn's back slowly and suggestively. "And the mere idea of today's activities I find... delicious."

Éomer was staring without blinking.

A feat in itself, Aragorn supposed. (At some point, the act of blinking would become essential to the welfare of his eyes.)

"Well," said Aragorn and shrugged. (Not that anyone noticed – due to the cloak.)

Éomer seemed to rouse himself. "Maybe I should leave you to... discuss..."

He trailed off as Legolas' hand proved intent on remaining attached to Aragorn's body. Presently it was examining if there was any chance of it slipping inside, underneath the cloak to find more – body. Aragorn shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It struck him as a reasonable action.

"Discuss what, friend Éomer?" queried Legolas, actually sounding interested.

The cloak was no match for a skilled Elf.

The Marshal ran a hand through his flaxen locks and his eyes darted between Aragorn's and Legolas' respective faces – and the hand that first pushed the cloak off one of Aragorn's shoulders and then trailed down his upper arm.

"Matters," he said rather weakly and Aragorn could not help but to nourish a tingle of delight at his loss for words.

_Not so eloquent now._

Something to remember should they come to a point at which such information could come in handy. Whatever situation – if it even existed – that might be.

However, as Legolas' hand changed its course and – in plain daylight – abandoned his arm for his side and slowly drifted downwards, even Aragorn felt a little uncomfortable.

Someone had obviously turned Éomer's feet into stone and that was why he still remained standing in front of them. As if Bilbo's Troll story had become partly true and someone had magically exchanged Éomer's feet for a Troll-turned-into-stone's feet... (Gandalf?)

Aragorn tried to imagine a stone Troll sporting Éomer of Rohan's – hopefully – still living feet but failed miserably. Did that mean, that should it happen, the stone Troll in question (Aragorn forgot their names) could actually walk around – provided that Éomer's feet were still useful even after they had... left him?

If that _were _indeed possible, then somebody needed to stop the stone Troll from bumping into other wanderers and accidently injuring them. As stone was very hard.

Nasty piece of business, to say the least.

Legolas' hand cupped one of his buttocks. Aragorn nearly screamed.

The cloak sort of fluttered nervously.

"Strider!"

Aragorn wondered if a stone Troll would have made him happier.

Merry's curly head popped out from behind a tent and all it really consisted of was one huge grin. "All ready for the ceremony?"

Still with Legolas agonisingly close, Aragorn managed to nod. "Yes."

"Splendid!" The Hobbit crossed the grass and came to stand by their side. He peered up at them. "Are you rested, Strider? You do look well."

"Of course he does," said Legolas and his hand gave an affectionate stroke. "He has even bathed."

Merry's eyes went wide. "Truly?"

"I would not lie to you about such an important matter." Legolas' eyes glittered as Aragorn sent them a glare.

"Oh," said Merry and produced a sigh. "How I wish poor old Pippin were here to share this moment with us."

_Eh, not._

"I bathe," muttered Aragorn under his breath.

"Yes, when I tell you to," smiled Legolas as his arm slid around Aragorn's waist. Then his attention turned back to Éomer as his voice acquired a sharper edge. "You see, horse friend, that the future King is well taken care of."

Éomer inclined his head. "I do not doubt it."

"Good," was all Legolas said but secured his hold on Aragorn's waist.

But apparently Éomer was a man with a death wish.

"'Tis just that..." he began uncertainly, "it is, among the Rohirrim, unusual for two males to openly display their affection for each other."

To Aragorn it sounded like the Hobbit stifled a giggle.

Damned Hobbits.

But in this moment, Legolas was not concerned with Hobbits – however much they giggled.

"So instead you conceal your true feelings and seek pleasure and comfort in the darkness of the night?" He did not sound overly impressed. "You rely on the averted eyes of your companions?"

Éomer's brow had furrowed. "It is not ideal, I realise... But it is tradition – a part of our culture and attitude."

"Then your culture does not impress me, Éomer of Rohan."

_Check. _

"Then you trust that your companions will readily approve of such behaviour, no matter who they are or where or how you spend your nights and days?"

Legolas' chin lifted and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Aragorn swallowed.

"I choose my friends with infinite care," the Elf hissed, "and my lovers with even more."

"And we mind not at all," said Merry suddenly. "In fact," he added, a new grin spreading across his face, "it has been a source of constant amusement and entertainment throughout this quest."

If Éomer's face had been a stern mask as his conversation with Legolas grew more strained, he now seemed to have a hard time fighting a, somewhat surprised, smile of his own. "Is that so, master Hobbit?"

Merry nodded excitedly. "Indeed! Initially we knew naught of it of course, but when we reached Lórien Legolas had finally grown so tired of Strider hiding it, that he lashed out at him. You should have seen it with your own eyes! I have never seen Legolas so angry – and Strider so scared!"

Somebody. Kill. The. Hobbit.

Stone Troll desperately needed.

_Now. _

"I was not scared," Aragorn ground out. Using clenched teeth to frighten the Hobbit.

It did not help.

"Yes, you were," insisted Merry. "We all saw that."

"I shall have to revise my opinion then," said Éomer almost thoughtfully. "If, when you speak truthfully, you maintain that you deem such approaches healthy.

"Oh, I do not know about the stone throwing... But I am very pleased Strider has Legolas to look after him."

Forget stone Troll.

He almost wished Sauron was still around.

"See, love?" Legolas flashed a brilliant smile at Aragorn. "I am very good for you. And now it is not only I who say it."

"Pardon my harsh words, Legolas." Éomer looked sincere – maybe even enough for Legolas to forgive him. "I spoke of what I do not know and I insulted you."

Aragorn could not believe it when his Elf only waved a hand at the Marshal in a casual manner. "Worry not, Éomer. With you as King of Rohan, I expect to see some changes in your _attitude_ – now that you know more about these sweet matters." He placed a kiss on Aragorn's cheek. "But should you ever wish to explore this path, you will have no luck pursuing Elessar for I do not share."

"Legolas throws stones," Merry supplied.

"I would not challenge you," smiled Éomer.

Aragorn seriously contemplated becoming the next Dark Lord.

"Strider..." Merry had tilted his head to the side and there was confusion in his gaze. "_What_ are you wearing?"

"A cloak," he growled.

"Ah. It is very big."

"Yes."

A pause followed during which Legolas drew a little closer still and Éomer had some difficulties ignoring that.

"Why?"

"Because," said Aragorn (still through clenched teeth), "there will be a ceremony for Frodo and Sam in a little while.

If anybody had bothered to tell him where or when or how..!

"Frodo is awake? And Sam too? Where are they?"

Hobbits should never be allowed to open their mouths. They could breathe through their noses.

Éomer dragged his eyes from the nonexistent space between Aragorn and Legolas, and brightened. "If you wish, Merry, I will take you there and you may see for yourself if that is the case."

"You are very kind! Then let us go. We will see you later then, Legolas... Strider. Good luck with the preparations!"

Visibly relieved by this self-appointed task of his, Éomer gave a nod and then ushered Merry towards the tent where Frodo and Sam supposedly were housed.

A soon as they were alone, Legolas had both of his arms encircling Aragorn's waist. "Oh, love, what a morning!" He dropped his head onto the Man's shoulder and exhaled. "But at least Éomer now knows that he will be very sorry indeed if he goes after you."

"You could have let me speak for myself." Aragorn knew he sounded angry – probably because he was.

But Legolas only patted his lower back with a lazy hand. "You never speak. I thought it best if I cleared things up."

"Apparently," muttered Aragorn, but he found it hard to hold on to his anger as Legolas' soft hair brushed his chin.

"Mhm..." The Elf nuzzled his neck and left a couple of soft kisses on his throat. He sounded almost drowsy when he spoke. "You realise that anyone could be watching us right now."

"You've been touching me all morning... Out here."

"Yes... I liked that very much." Legolas pulled back a little and tugged down the cloak from Aragorn's shoulder so that if fell around him once more. "I like making a statement." He resumed his earlier position with his arms around the man's waist. "I wish to let the entire world know that I love you, Elessar, son of Arathorn... heir of Elendil... and whatever the rest of it is..."

"The Elfstone son of Arathorn of the House of Valandil Isildur's son," Aragorn grumbled into his hair.

"That too...." Legolas' breath was comforting against his skin. "I should call you House-stone for short... Or Stone House."

"I should kill the Hobbit," said Aragorn.

Legolas laughed and then drew him even closer, pressing their bodies together completely. "I think it is large enough."

"What?"

"The cloak," Legolas said as if he had been referring to that the entire time. "If we can find a way to wrap it around both of us, no one will suspect anything."

"Suspect what?" Aragorn admitted to not understanding a thing.

Legolas was squirming against him in a not completely unattractive way. "Listen to yourself – it is no wonder I had to be the one to settle matters with Éomer..." He did a bit more squirming. "If the cloak can shield both our bodies from inquisitive eyes, no one will know that we are undressed."

This was the essence of Lack of Logic.

"We are not undressed," Aragorn explained, wondering if the hardship of the previous months finally was taking its toll on Legolas.

But his Elf only smiled devilishly before he brushed his lips against Aragorn's. "Not yet, no. But that can be amended. Would you not find it thrilling to wear this cloak at the ceremony knowing that only hours earlier we had made love on it."

"I thought we were standing up?"

Legolas' smile only widened. "If you insist."

**TBC**


	21. Tower, Minas Tirith, Gondor

**So, I'm thinking that the next chapter will be the last as I really feel that this story is ready to be wrapped up. But for now, we are still in Gondor! **

**Thanks to Aralas for generously providing me with an impressive amount of versions of 'ahem'. It's entirely my fault they ended up where they did. **

**A very Merry Christmas to all of you!**

*****

**Chapter 21 – Tower, Minas Tirith (White City), Gondor**

"This must be the fiftieth bedroom."

Still with one hand on the handle, Aragorn looked inside and could not help the exasperated sigh that escaped him. Legolas was peering over his shoulder.

"I do not particularly like this one," he announced. "It is too small and too dark; it has no windows. Fit for a Dwarf, I say."

As the new King of Gondor (yes, yes, _and _Arnor) it really was Aragorn's place to object and stress that all creatures were worthy decent nightly accommodation but he sorely lacked the energy. "Why would you need this many bedrooms anyway?" he grumbled instead, lovingly exhibiting all the appreciation he held for his new home.

Legolas leaned against the opposite doorframe. "For guests? A Dwarf, in this case."

"They would prefer sleeping in the caves, I suspect," muttered Aragorn.

A pair of blue elven eyes went wide. "There are caves here? And you have bedrooms in them too?"

"It is not like _I _designed this place," Aragorn defended himself and made an attempt to close the door which proved impossible as Legolas stood where he was standing, so to speak. "If I had done that, I would not have included half as many bedrooms."

"No, I see not why you would need more than one," said Legolas thoughtfully. "Or possibly five." He visibly brightened. "That way we could alternate!"

Aragorn could be persuaded into examining that idea more thoroughly in some near future. Now, however, was not the time. Unfortunately.

"In any case" he said, forcefully dragging his thoughts in a more – for the moment – productive direction, "I am not sure there are any caves here."

The brightness was quickly gone from Legolas' features and he frowned. "Then why did you say so?"

"I did not. I said that a Dwarf would probably prefer sleeping in the caves rather than here."

True, it was but an assumption, but not such an unlikely one.

"But we were specifically discussing bedrooms here, _in the Tower_," said Legolas, emphasising that last part like he thought Aragorn was extraordinarily dim-witted. "Thus, when you speak of '_the _caves' I take for granted that there are some _here._"

"Well, yes… But…"

"Well, as we were discussing this particular location, I would assume that you were referring to the same when you mentioned the caves."

"If they even exist!" Aragorn flung his arms out, something he immediately regretted as the door was in the way.

Legolas' eyebrows were aiming for the ceiling. "Would you not say that offering a Dwarf a cave to sleep in when in reality you have none, is quite uncivil?"

"I am not offering any Dwarf anything!" exclaimed Aragorn as his offended fingers were beginning to throb with pain.

"So where will you have Gimli sleep then?"

Aragorn glared at the bedroom, quite certain it was its fault for bringing about this stupid quarrel. "He can sleep in here, for all I care. It _was _you who said that it was fit for a Dwarf."

"Until you mentioned the caves…"

"There are no caves!"

Legolas cocked his head to the side. "A moment ago you said you did not know that. Have you made a discovery in these last two minutes that I am not aware of, Elessar?"

Turning his glare on the Elf, Aragorn could only grumble. "No."

"Then do not make it sound like it," Legolas said sweetly, "it weakens your argument." He leaned in and placed a quick kiss on Aragorn's cheek. "I am quite sure Gimli will be perfectly happy in here, although he would have preferred caves, I daresay."

"If there are any…" He would have loved to rub the kiss away, just to show Legolas that he was not beaten yet, but in all honesty if felt too good to get rid of. Legolas might be welcome to kiss the pain in his hand away too. Maybe.

"You were sort of implying that there were…"

"You listen too intently."

"I love you – I listen to what you say!" Legolas tried an expression of indignation.

"No you do not."

"Love you or listen to you?" The Elf edged a little closer and this time his lips landed gently on Aragorn's own.

"Listen," he managed to mutter before he was properly kissed. (Which somehow made it all better.)

Legolas drew back with a smug smile. "Now shall we explore the bedrooms we like?"

With a tremendous effort, Aragorn shook his head. "What we should do, is to head back to that huge hall we started from."

Legolas' hand landed on the small of his back but nevertheless, the Elf seemed to compose himself. "Alright, lead the way."

Finally pulling the door shut, he took a first step to his left. Then he hesitated. "We came from around that corner, did we not?"

"Hm?" Legolas looked up.

"That way?" Aragorn pointed to his left. "Are we going that way?"

Legolas threw a fleeting glance in the opposite direction. "Or that. It is hard to tell…"

"You do not remember the way?"

The Elf only shrugged. "I am with a Ranger," he said. "It is you who should be doing all that tracking and path-finding and such."

"This is a _house_!" protested Aragorn. "Not a grass plain in Rohan."

"This is a _Tower_," Legolas corrected him. "And just because it is lacking in grass, does not mean you could not pay attention to where you are going."

"_You _are certainly not helping."

"It is _hard,_ Aragorn!" cried Legolas emphatically. "When you are wearing these breeches…" He lovingly caressed one of Aragorn's leather clad buttocks. "You are far more enticing than any wood panels."

Aragorn muttered as he fought to maintain focus. "I thought you liked wood."

"'Woods', love, as in trees grouped together." Legolas purred as he extended his caresses to include the other buttock as well. "Could we not stay away for a little longer?"

"We have already spent hours walking around this place…"

It was not appropriate. It _was _not appropriate! He had a people to look after…

"What is another hour, then?" Legolas hummed into his hair and against his neck.

Aragorn swallowed. The people had managed without him for some years, after all... "Or five?"

He _heard _the grin. "Mmm... That way we have time to alternate…"

"Ahem..."

Aragorn froze.

"Aaahem..."

Legolas' hands reluctantly withdrew from his breeches.

"A-hem!"

Aragorn cursed under his breath.

"A-HEM!"

Legolas' lips left his neck.

"AHEM!"

_Damn._

It really was hard not to scream.

"Strider!"

"What?!" screamed Aragorn.

Legolas jerked back and rubbed the ear that had been closest to the audio assault (one of his own ears – not one of Aragorn's... probably because he – Legolas, not Aragorn – felt that as Aragorn had done the screaming, he – Aragorn, that was, not Legolas – was not worthy of having his ear rubbed). "_Elessar_..." he began complaining but was brutally cut off.

"How are you both?"

So, Pippin was looking extraordinarily perky. It was obvious that the Black Breath no longer was what it used to be.

Well, what it used to be while it still existed – seeing as Sauron and his minions were destroyed by now and probably took their Breaths with them.

(No use breathing when you no longer exist.)

Which was almost unfortunate in The Hobbit Case.

"Never been better." Aragorn scowled.

"Excellent!" said Merry with an accompanying grin. "It is good we found you both together for we were utterly tired of walking around looking for you."

"This place is terribly enormous," nodded Pippin. "I am sure we could fit the whole Shire within these walls."

If there was one thing Aragorn did not wish to try, it was that.

"There are certainly enough bedrooms here to give every Hobbit in Middle-earth a place to sleep," said Legolas.

An equally bad idea.

The White Tower overflowing with Hobbits?

No thank you.

"No thank you," he said.

Legolas' lips quirked into a smile. "No? Well, we could store them in the caves, I suppose." He patted Aragorn's lower back and then his hand sort of lingered there.

"There are caves too?" Merry asked, (_so _unable to _shut up_). "Gimli will love that! He is all for this stone that is _everywhere _– a little too everywhere if you ask me – but he is very upset that all of it is above the ground, if you take my meaning."

"There are no caves," Aragorn repeated through clenched teeth, focusing on Pippin. Not that it had worked on Merry in Ithilien, but, as far as he could see, Pippin was another individual altogether (Hobbit Four).

Who seemed equally unimpressed.

"Then why did you say so?" He looked from Legolas to Aragorn and back again.

So he had eyes and he knew how to use them. Good for him.

Legolas only shrugged. "I did not. Initially it was Aragorn who mentioned them."

Aragorn slapped away the Elf's hand. And immediately regretted it as his lower back suddenly felt awfully alone.

"I spoke about caves in general," he clarified.

"_M-hm_," said Legolas without bothering to sound convinced.

Merry frowned. "In any case, they are waiting for you."

"In the Great Hall," supplied Pippin. "You do know that both of you are acting very strange?"

It was evident that Pippin had never considered spending an hour of his time in Legolas' arms.

...

Which was a very, _very _good thing.

Violently shaking his head to rid himself of any upsetting images, Aragorn grasped Legolas' hand and firmly replaced it on his lower back. It was high time to stop talking about Hobbits and beds. And Elves. (Legolas.) At least when they appeared together in the same bed – no matter which one. Something that should never happen in the first place.

Not that he minded talking about Legolas. It was just the combination that deeply unsettled him.

"Strider?"

The Hobbits were both looking at him expectantly.

"Yes?"

_What _now?

"Lead the way!" said Pippin.

Legolas half-heartedly stifled a giggle. "Yes, please do, Elessar."

He would show them.

"Left!" he ordered.

– xxx –

A week passed, and then they arrived in the Great Hall.

"By Elbereth! By now we were quite certain that the line of Elendil was finally lost in the folds of history." Elrohir was reclining upon some type of divan, only bothering to open one eye.

"Strider gave us the complete tour," said Merry.

"He was very thorough," supplied Pippin obligingly. "He made sure we saw the eastern balconies twice, and the kitchens thrice."

"Very kind of him." Merry grinned, like the evil creature he was.

Elrohir shook his head and gave a deep sigh. "How shall we summon the courage to leave you alone, little brother, when that day comes?" He turned his one-eyed attention to Legolas. "It would be sad indeed to see you perish, Legolas, when Estel cannot find his way in his own home..."

Legolas flashed him a Smile of Brilliance. "Oh, I am sure we shall manage. There are bedrooms enough to find someplace to... sleep – and now that we have located the kitchens, there is a prospect of survival." He gave Aragorn's shoulder a nudge with his nose. "Or what do you think, love?"

"Hm," said Aragorn.

"And what about politics?" Elladan had been ignoring them expertly, but now he turned from the window to survey them. "What will you deal with first, Estel? The cities that lie in ruins? The ravaged forests? The burial of the dead?" His grey eyes narrowed and his voice acquired a sharper edge. "Kingship does not equal pleasure and bliss."

He knew that.

He really did.

"I know that!"

"Oh indeed?" Elladan strode closer menacingly. "We always supported you, Estel, for we knew of your heritage and your destiny. You have now won this war; it would be a great disaster if you _screwed this up_."

_Because_ _that was his plan..._

Elladan stopped only a few inches away and his eyes were gleaming. "Can you handle this, _little brother?_

Enough was enough.

"I am not so little anymore!" cried Aragorn. (He almost made Legolas jump. Almost. Which was sort of an impressive feat.) "And I know this is no game for children! I have prepared for this for some sixty years – it does not exactly come as a surprise. I will govern Gondor wisely! Yes, _and _Arnor!" he added when he thought Elladan was about to open his mouth. "We will bury and honour the dead, set about to restore the lands, and secure peace. Houses and huts shall be repaired long before winter and foods and goods shall be allocated appropriately. A new era of prosperity has begun!"

He drew a deep breath.

Elladan said nothing.

The Hobbits were staring.

Elrohir and Legolas were absolutely still.

From the doorway came the sound of clapping.

"Well spoken, Elessar. You will inspire many, I believe." Gandalf slowly crossed the floor, his white robe elegantly flowing around him. "I knew you had it in you, somewhere." He winked.

Aragorn glared.

In front of him, Elladan turned a softening gaze to Legolas. _"Mellon nín," _he said quietly. "There now lies a great choice before you... Can you endure this city of stone after so many years beneath the green boughs of the northern lands?"

It took Aragorn a couple of seconds before he understood what his so-called brother meant.

He. Did. Not. Like. It.

Elladan moved closer to Legolas – _his _Legolas – and everyone in Minas Tirith held their breaths. Or at least Aragorn did not breathe, and out of concern for him, the Hobbits really should do the same.

"You will always be welcome in Imladris, Legolas... Many would rejoice should you choose to make your home there."

It was sheer horror that kept Aragorn from moving, or screaming, or punching Elladan so hard that caves finally were created due to Impact Of Elf.

He watched in terror as Legolas placed a hand upon Elladan's shoulder and offered him a gentle smile. _"Le hannon, mellon nín,_" he said softly. "You are very generous, but I have already chosen."

His other hand found Aragorn's and threading their fingers together, he brought their joint hands to his mouth and placed a kiss upon the Man's skin. "I choose your brother, and I will make a home here with him."

Aragorn knew he should breathe, but he settled on crying instead. (Not overly much, but a tear or two trickled down his cheeks.)

Elladan nodded slowly, his eyes a bit duller as the last shreds of hope left them. The Hall was very quiet.

Legolas turned to Aragorn but did not release his hand. _"__Le annon veleth nín,"_ he whispered. "Again, and again, and again."

Aragorn could not hold back a sob. "I love you too."

Now he was crying overly much.

When Legolas leaned in and kissed him, they were nearly drowning.

Pretty soon he did not care.

When they parted, he knew very little about where he began or ended.

That all changed when his gaze fell upon Elladan. He was ready to say something terribly terrible, but his brother spoke before he had a chance to arrange his thoughts.

"You have my blessing, Estel."

_Huh?_

Aragorn frowned.

But Elladan only nodded and did not repeat himself.

"Thank you?" He could not help it if he sounded a bit doubtful. After all, only moments ago this brother of his had practically begged Legolas to marry him.

Aragorn never begged.

"You both have my blessing. May the Valar grant you much happiness."

He took a step back from them and gave a weak smile. "Look after him, Legolas. And make sure he behaves."

"Oh, I will!" grinned Legolas. "I plan to bathe him every day."

Aragorn pulled out of the embrace. "Surely no one needs to bathe ever day," he protested. He had done just fine during his Ranger days when sometimes a light rain was the only type of water he had encountered for weeks.

The look that Legolas gave him would convince even the most stubborn Balrog that a bath was in order.

"Fine," he grumbled. "You win."

There came an "Aaaaah" from somewhere to his left. Merry and Pippin were wearing the sappiest smiles he had ever seen.

"That was _beautiful_," said Hobbit Three.

"He even agreed to bathe..."

"You know, Strider, Gandalf was about to clap again when you declared your love for Legolas, but we stopped him. We thought it might ruin the moment if you were not finished yet – and you were not, as it was. So he refrained from it, and now we are here and you have all made up. Is it not splendid?!"

_Oh the drama..._

"Splendid," he said and the Hobbits gave a collective sigh.

As if he recognised this as his cue, Gandalf stirred. "Now, if this lovers' quarrel has been settled, perhaps it is time to look to the celebrations?"

Elrohir shifted on the divan and spoke up for the first time in ages. (The fact that he had succeeded in remaining silent for so long did not discredit him.) "We will ride out to meet _adar _and Arwen. They will surely bring a host from Rivendell."

With a final glance at Legolas, Elladan nodded and went to sit by his twin's side. "We will escort them to the City."

"Very well," said Gandalf. "Yet there are many other pressing matters. I will send for Faramir and you may seek his counsel, Aragorn. That is if he can tear himself from the Lady of Rohan..." The Wizard's blue eyes were twinkling.

Very suspicious.

Not giving him any time to further reflect upon this, Legolas wound an arm around Aragorn's waist and steered them both towards the dais upon which the old, and for many long years unused, throne of the Kings was standing. He managed to slide into the seat first without really letting go.

"You know that thing is for me?" Aragorn tried to figure out how he could best claim the throne with Legolas still in it, not ending up on top (not that he minded being _on top_) while still looking royal and important. Preferably with most of his dignity intact.

"Yes?"

"And now you are sitting in it?"

"Yes?" Legolas pulled him a little closer using the Arm Around Waist Technique, combined with a heavy dose of Lowered Eyelashes and one Improper Smile. "What do you say we let them plan away all they want while you and I try out the furniture..?"

There was no option but to end up partially in his lap.

"Not here!" hissed Aragorn as the Elf's hand worked itself inside his shirt.

"Oh, but I quite like this throne..." mused Legolas as his fingertips brushed against warm skin.

"I..." Aragorn shivered. "Do not... care." He shot a quick glance at Gandalf who was speaking with his brothers. The Hobbits were nowhere to be seen. No one paid them any attention.

Okay, so maybe he cared a little.

Legolas was very perceptive. He tugged at Aragorn's shirt and nuzzled the Man's neck. "Imagine we are all alone..." he murmured, "what would you do then?"

Legolas did not want to know.

Well, probably he did, judging by the way his hands were stroking Aragorn's upper body.

At least it was his upper body and not other... body parts.

"I would..." he drew a deep breath and closed his eyes.

_Do not think about Gandalf._

Legolas' tongue tip gave his neck an encouraging caress.

_No Gandalf._

"We..."

_Gandalf was nowhere around._

Aragorn let out a tiny gasp as his lover's hand slid down to his upper thigh. His very, _very_ upper thigh. A first rush of blood set certain nether regions burning.

"I adore these breeches," Legolas breathed against his skin. "When you have me right here, promise you will wear only them."

Whatever Aragorn had planned on saying was lost in a magnificent blush. He was quite sure that this was not the type of royal action that Denethor had desired when he cast long looks upon the throne.

"Maybe I will wear the Winged Crown too?" he jested.

The jesting part was completely lost on Legolas. All he got was a moment of blank staring.

"Oh, Elessar..." Elven lips curved in the most delicious smile and the hand left Aragorn's upper thigh and a palm was dragged over his groin, making the Man gasp. "I think we shall find you reign most... pleasurable."

Aragorn was only a breath away from catching Legolas' lips with his own.

"Hoy, laddie!"

_Dwarf. _

Were not Hobbits enough?

He slowly turned to face the room. Gimli had apparently left his axe behind, but he still looked like he was on a mission.

"These scoundrels here talk about caves," called Gimli, nodding towards Merry and Pippin. "Where have you hidden them?"

Aragorn drew a long, deep breath that was meant to be calming. Still, telling a Dwarf of the absence of caves was a delicate matter.

_"There are no caves!"_ he shouted.

Legolas chuckled low. "I know of one cave that you may visit..." Talented fingers dove beneath the leather and Aragorn shuddered. "But that is you and only you..."

As Gimli's grumbles blended with the Hobbit's eager exclamations, Aragorn pushed Legolas' hand further down. "Is this cave hard to find?" he mumbled.

His Elf left a kiss upon his lips. "A skilled Ranger like yourself will surely locate the opening... But you may want to bring your staff."

**TBC**

**Translations (all Sindarin):**

_mellon nín – _my friend

_le hannon –_ thank you

_Le annon veleth nín _– I give my love to you

_adar _– father


	22. The House o t Kings, MT, Gondor, Me

**My faithful friends! We have reached the… end. Even doing that took me some time, but maybe I kept holding back, not really wanting to let go of this story? If I never tell you, we will never know. But I'm rewarding your patience with an unusually long chapter, bordering on unhealthy.**

**There will be no shout-outs this time around, but instead, to all of you who have been reading, reviewing, stating your opinions (as long as they were nice) and providing me with lots of inspiration and ideas, I will say only this: Thank you.**

**THANK YOU. **

*****

**You wanted poetry. You take the blame. I CANNOT accept responsibility for it. **

*****

**Chapter 22 – The House of the Kings, Citadel, Minas Tirith (White City), Gondor, Middle-earth**

There was… silence.

As unlikely as that may sound, when Aragorn listened he heard only silence. And he knew how to listen – not everybody made Chieftain of the Dúnedain. As he had done. Pretty early in his life too. (Just making sure you fully understand the amazingness of the facts presented.)

So, there was silence.

Well, except for Legolas' light breathing behind him, an occasional snore from Gimli (he never learned) and some annoying fidgeting from the Hobbits. If Hobbits needed to fidget, they should do it without making a sound. Thereby, silence would prevail.

In any case, apart from this, it was so quiet that no enemy stood a chance: if any unfortunate and overoptimistic soul dared to break into the sitting-room, they would be heard, overpowered, caught and killed before they had even cried _'Hey!'_ – if it at all was very likely that an enemy preferred exclaiming in such a manner when they attacked. Or tried to attack. Which has already been proclaimed an unnecessary mission since all present were so quiet. (Except for Gimli who snored. As he never learned.) Therefore, any attack would be a complete waste of time, for all parties taking part in the… action.

Not that there would be any action (at least not of _that_ kind). But that has been established by now. Hopefully.

If not, please abstain from contacting Aragorn son of Arathorn, c/o Elrond Half-elven, Lord of Imladris c.t. 'Rivendell' _hidden valley_, Library, Imladris c.t. 'Rivendell', West of Misty Mountains, East of Ford of Bruinen

Legolas shifted slightly and since Aragorn was leaning back against him, he experienced this firsthand. (He was one lucky man!) The Elf's arms were thrown around him in a fashion that suggested he cared little, but the way his thumb was tracing circles upon Aragorn's tunic, near his heart – somewhere in the vicinity of one rib bone or another – indicated something else.

Legolas, in turn, was leaning against a huge chair which could, quite possible, have housed an Ent. Aragorn was pretty happy there were no Ents in Minas Tirith. Not that he doubted Legolas' love for him, but there was no telling how his Elf would react should those slow-talking piles of bark actually show up on his doorstep.

"Hm," he muttered.

"What?" The hand that was holding the book was lowered. "Love?" Legolas placed a kiss on his neck.

Which was nice, but there were still uncomfortable images in his head. "They need not come here."

"And who are 'they'?" asked Legolas. He spoke very quietly. Probably because he did not want to disturb the silence more than necessary. That, too, was nice.

"It would take them _ages _to leave," said Aragorn, more to himself than anyone else.

"Mhm…" Legolas resumed his reading.

Aragorn fingered the quill that had lain forgotten upon the stack of parchments for a good part of the last hour or so.

_Oh, Ent! Oh, Ent! Away I thee sent,_

_thou shalt no more enter my Halls…_

…_cometh not within my walls._

_Thou must go with thine head bent!_

Not so bad.

If he were making poetry about Ents – which was not his overall purpose.

_Oh, creature of bark, and leaf, and root,_

_away your presence I shove – _

_with my boot!_

Hah! No Ents would ever dare to interfere in the new King's business.

Granted, they had done some admirable work in the War, but Legolas was his.

Hobbits seemed to get along well with them. Why did they not hang out more?

"Hah!" he exclaimed in a triumphant, rumbling sort of way.

Legolas' nose bumped against his ear. "Huh?"

"We would be left alone," he declared.

"If the mysterious 'they' stayed away?" The Elf suddenly sounded as if the Man had said something wise. (Aragorn made a mental note of telling Legolas later that he should, on all occasions, respond as if he had said something wise, for, of course, he always did.)

"Yes."

"Hmm…" Legolas' voice dropped to a suspiciously deep murmur. "I like that prospect… alone with you." He gave a miniature push of his hips, expertly alerting Aragorn's backside of their existence. "What did you have in mind, lover?"

Since Aragorn had mostly been concerned with the nonexistence on any Ents within his rooms, he was not fully prepared for this (if he ever was). He threw a glance at the pile of Hobbits on the low sofa, and then one in Gimli's direction. Where his brothers, Gandalf and Éomer were, he had no idea.

"Not here," he hissed, wondering how many times he had said that before. But then again, an interested Legolas was better than a Legolas who left him for an Ent.

"Oh?"

There was a new push. In fact, it was so much more forceful that it could almost be called a small thrust.

"You know," said Legolas (but still in a very quiet voice as he apparently had no desire – hah! that will be the day – to alert the others of his intentions), "you say that too often."

"I know," sighed Aragorn, wincing at, but at the same time appreciating, one of Gimli's snores. "But your sense of timing is skewed."

"Skewed…" Legolas almost muttered. "I am merely displaying my affection. Nothing wrong with that."

The pushing stopped. Aragorn grumbled inwardly.

_Oh, hear ye souls of City White:_

_the roar of planning not so right._

_Alas! The Elf is now subdued,_

_because his timing was so skewed!_

He fingered the quill once more and then dipped it into the pool of black ink (the pool of ink being nicely contained in a glass jar – it would make little sense having floating around on the floor).

_Ent and Elf shall never be_

_for there is naught but terror to see…_

_if it… were so._

_Oh!_

_The image of the mismatched pair –_

_enough to raise the hair _

…_on the back of your neck,_

_when you check…_

_them out…_

_Doubt!_

_There shall be if ever such a union took place_

_in the face_

_of the King,_

_who will not sing its praise._

Aragorn shook his head.

Scary stuff.

Not the headshaking, but the images conjured up. Nevertheless, he was rather impressed by his writing.

He was lovingly admiring it when the door flew open and scared the Hobbits half to death.

A shame his brother had not used just a little more force.

Elrohir was scanning the sitting-room and behind him the hallway seemed crowded. Aragorn spotted his other brother, a flash of Éomer's blond hair, and a sort of sweeping sweep of what looked like Gandalf's robes.

Legolas nudged him. Quite painfully, in the ribs.

"Ouch!" he hissed, frantically rubbing the offended piece of body.

"Sorry. We have company."

"We always have company," muttered Aragorn under his breath.

Legolas snorted. "I was under the impression that you liked that – after you so clearly turned down my offer before."

"I did not turn it down!" At least he did not think he had. "I want to wait... until we are alone."

"But, as you also, correctly, pointed out..." Legolas was sounding more and more annoyed by the second. Aragorn was quite happy he was not facing him. "We never are alone."

"We are alone!" Raising your voice was inevitably part of the protesting bargain. "Just not... now."

It was the opposite with Elves. Legolas' voice dropped a few levels, and took on a menacing shimmer. "It would be nice if we were..."

Aragorn swallowed. "Later?"

"Now."

_Right._

"Hoy!" Gimli was peering at them from across the room. "Everything alright over there?"

Aragorn glared.

"No need to look so scared, laddie!" shouted the Dwarf. "He has not killed you yet, and I wager he will not do it today either." For a creature mostly covered in bushy facial hair, he looked very smug.

"Oh," murmured Legolas in his ear, "the bet is on."

If a shiver of expectation ran down Aragorn's spine, it was due to his body's complete inability to _get the point_.

Here he was, encircled by danger (being angry with him had not seemed like reason enough for Legolas to pull back and let him have his chest all to himself again) and his reflexes were still mostly focused on lust.

(The Hobbits were mostly looking confused. Or they were thinking about other things... Not _everything _centred around Legolas, after all.)

Yeah right.

Anyway, Aragorn shivered some more and then had to strictly tell his body to stop acting like an Orc caught stealing from a Balrog.

Caught _by _the Balrog, that was.

Or the analogy would not make much sense.

Did Balrogs have any possessions?

And if they did, would they be items that were of any value to an Orc?

Aragorn had met Orcs more times that he cared to remember. On the other hand, he had only met them once when a Balrog had been around. But from what he could recall, they had not exactly been dragging around lots of stolen items... _On the other hand, _how could he tell for sure they had not been stolen? If they (the items) had existed – which he was fairly sure they had not. Then again, he had been busy running for his life at that particular moment so he had not paid much attention to detail. Tricky...

"Little brother!"

Aragorn's head snapped up and he found that Elladan was staring down at him intently. His jaw was firmly set and he had a very determined look about him.

"Yes?"

"In the hallway. I wish to speak with you."

"Now?"

Elladan drew a deep breath and visibly tried to keep his temper balanced. "No, after the dark of the next moon."

_Oh, yes, bring on the irony!_

Just what he needed.

"Fine," he said.

Legolas let him go and so he really had no choice other than to rise and follow his brother.

He shut the door behind him and suddenly all was unsettlingly quiet. With the advances of evening, the sky was darkening but no lamps or torches had been lit in the alcoves yet. On the plus side, there were fewer Hobbits here.

Elladan turned to face him but he kept a respectful distance. Aragorn was not preparing for a hugging orgy anyway.

"So. Estel."

At least they were speaking. Or Elladan was.

But then of course, dragging Aragorn out here in order to simply share a moment of brotherly silence seemed like a pointless idea.

"Yes?" he said warily.

So they were both speaking.

Aragorn really should stop trusting his own body.

"What do you want?" he tried to sound nonchalant. It did not work – just like it had never worked before.

Silence stretched between them for a couple of very long minutes before Elladan apparently made up his mind to explain their current position in the hallway. The tension did not go out of his shoulders, but at least when he spoke, his jaw was moving.

"I cannot say it thrills me, Estel, to know that you are the one to whom Legolas has given his heart, but I can endure it. As I said, you have my blessing. And I guess, too, that I am happy for you."

_Aha..._

Aragorn regarded his brother suspiciously. "You guess?"

"Do not ask too much of me just yet," Elladan warned him, suddenly once again acquiring the stance of a warrior facing an army of Orcs. (And Balrogs maybe, if Orcs had stolen from them and made them very angry.)

"Hm," said Aragorn, thinking that might be a good way to put an end to the conversation.

"In addition to this," Elladan continued, "I wish to clarify one thing."

_Oh, bliss!_

"What might that be?"

"I told you also that we, Elrohir and I, always supported you since we knew of your heritage and destiny, and the threat to your very existence..."

_The generosity of brotherhood..._

Put like that, it sounded _so _kind.

"Thank you," Aragorn said dryly.

Elladan ignored him.

"The truth is," the Elf bit his lip in a way that did not erase the grimness from his features, "we did so not only for those reasons, but also because we care greatly for you, Estel."

If surprise were not weightless and usually spent its time hanging in the air, there would have been an abyss separating the two of them.

Silence happily joined in.

If Gollum had still been around he could have poked at it – it was that dense.

"Well," said Aragorn at last.

This was interesting.

"I see," he added after a little while.

Elladan took a step forward (as there was no abyss). "Peace?"

He had two choices here: either he could further nourish the animosity between them which really would accomplish nothing, or he could accept the offer and try his hand at being an honourable man. Which his brother was not.

Mainly because he was an Elf.

"Peace," he muttered.

Elladan hugged him.

...

He hugged back.

It was nice.

He would not cry.

If there were tears in his eyes it was because his body still had not learnt to read his mind.

Stupid body.

Elladan released him.

"Are you crying, little brother?" Now – _now! _– he was grinning.

"No." Aragorn rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "You will tell no one."

"Oh, I make no promises..." The Elf wrapped an arm around his shoulders and steered them towards the door. "There are few things worse than mushy humans, Estel. Please refrain from becoming one of them." He stopped with his hand on the handle. "Oh, I forgot, Elrohir wanted me to be the one to say it because of our... differences during this past year, but he loves you too."

With that, The Evil Twin Brother Who Ought Never To Open His Mouth Ever Again opened the door, forcing Aragorn to violently swallow down the lump in his throat and blink away new tears. The bright blaze of the fire did not help in hiding his emotions.

Elladan was grinning... Elrohir was most certainly grinning – and Legolas was looking at him with something akin to wonder in his eyes. Unkind as he was, he was grinning too.

Strangely enough, it did nothing to lighten Aragorn's heart.

He was just about to regally stride across the room and sit down as if nothing at all of consequence had taken place in the hallway when someone lightly tapped his arm.

Éomer was shuffling his feet to his left.

"My lord?"

Aragorn raised an eyebrow – or possibly two since that particular talent of Elrond's had not transferred to him.

"May I have a word with you?" Éomer shot a glance in the direction of the door.

Why did he not just take up residence in the hallway? He could have the Hobbits move the throne there instead and then all who wished to speak with him need not enter the Tower?

"Of course," he said. There was no point in refusing the Marshal... future King of Rohan... already King... Who paid attention to detail anyway?

Somebody who was writing poetry about Orc thieves and Balrogs.

That was not Aragorn.

He turned and exited. Legolas looked mildly disappointed... or upset. It was hard to tell with Elves.

Once back in the hallway, he discovered it was even darker now. Éomer was lucky he was fair-haired or someone lacking Aragorn's excellent eyesight (he was a Ranger after all) may not have seen him.

"Éomer..." he began, but got no further before the young man broke in. (Which was nice since he had no idea of what he had meant to say in the first place.)

"My lord, I have been thinking. Indeed, I have – thoroughly – thought through what was said to me in Ithilien, on the subject of..." he blushed (Aragorn, with his excellent eyesight easily spotted that), "the love between males, that is, the one which differs from the brotherly love between mere companions, but is stronger and passionate and sealed by the joining of the flesh. And I have come to the conclusion that I cannot condemn it. You yourself is a great man and Legolas is a warrior worthy of all praise, and I can – doubt me not – ensure you I would never find such a union between the two of you disgusting."

Aragorn stared.

"Uhm," he said.

"I have," Éomer went on as if his life depended on him speaking until sunrise, "admired you, sire, from the moment we met, and though I do not waver in my belief that I will settle down with a woman and see my line continued – and I surely would not consider that a miserable fate – I cannot deny the very tangible connection that you share with Legolas."

Blinking, Aragorn settled with that. "Mhm."

"It is true that I was surprised to learn of your... inclinations." Éomer blushed even deeper. "As I said, it is not common among the men of Rohan to speak of such alliances of the heart, and our women are fair and proud, and we cherish them and respect them and I have always believed that most of us – the men – mean to join with a woman."

_You would be surprised..._

Aragorn kept silent. It was important to remember future trade routes.

And, yes, Éomer was a friend. Albeit a not so enlightened one.

"What I mean to say," the young man spread his hands, "is that my respect for you, my lord, has not diminished because of what I have learnt, and I..." He swallowed audibly and his distress was clearly painted on his face. "I... well, I wish to say that... should _my _inclinations have been different... I might have... There could have been – in my heart... Indeed, you are a remarkable man," he finished lamely.

_Right._

Well, at least this did not make him cry.

It was actually a compliment of some sorts. And those were always a treat.

"Thank you," he said.

Éomer nodded numbly.

Then again, he had probably done so much talking that he had emptied his storages. Of words.

All in all, he guessed it could have been worse: Éomer could have been an Ent, demanding ownership of Legolas.

Not that Aragorn _owned _Legolas.

It was the other way around, really.

"So!" he said in an attempt to brighten the mood. "We have established this – and I am grateful for your sincerity."

A less gloomy look replaced the earlier one on Éomer's face. "I meant every word, sire."

Well, no need to listen to it again!

"Lovely," smiled Aragorn. "Shall we join the others?"

The young man nodded and suddenly there was a light in his eyes again. "I wish to hear the Hobbits' tales. Merry promised Théoden that he would tell him of the little folk's history, and I shall hold him to that promise – in remembrance of my father and because my own curiosity needs to be sated."

That should keep them busy.

No one would object if the King of Gondor (yes, yes, _and _Arnor), all-knowing and wise, slipped out of the room when the storytelling was underway. Or preferably before it had even started. And no one would object if he took his Elf with him. Legolas knew loads already.

Upon entering they found that Frodo and Sam were speaking in low voices in a far-off corner, looking comfortable enough for two souls that had seen the very core of Orodruin. Gandalf and Gimli were seated by the open window, each of them trying to outdo the other when it came to blowing smoke rings.

Merry, Pippin and the three Elves were engaged in a heated debate. Heated, at least, on the part of the Hobbits.

"No!" Pippin was saying, "There was no way he could have done that!" His eyes were wide with astonishment.

"He was always so confused..." Merry shook his head. "I do not believe it. For all the leaves in the Southfarthing, I would not trust that tale."

Elrohir snickered. He had claimed a large chair and was reclining in it – much like Elladan, but who was in another chair. Legolas was still on the floor.

"Wise of you, master Merry," Elrohir smiled. "For it holds no truth beyond the names of the characters involved."

"But it is the version he likes to tell..." Elladan glanced up at Aragorn and his lips curved into a smile full of brotherly affection.

With suspicion rising like a tidal wave, Aragorn stomped across the floor. He was only vaguely aware of Éomer trailing behind him.

Legolas patted the floor between his outstretched legs. "Elessar." The he took a moment to narrow his eyes at Éomer.

Aragorn, with a sense of foreboding, sank down to the floor and was immediately wrapped up in a familiar embrace.

Merry was eyeing him doubtfully. "Did you, Strider, first court the Lady Arwen, only to end it when you had first laid eyes on Legolas."

"And did you do it chivalrously?" queried Pippin. "We do hope that was the case," he added.

And what exactly did Hobbits know of chivalry?

He sorted through several responses. "Well," he said slowly. "That was..."

"Not the case," Legolas brutally finished for him. The Elf brushed some hair from his temple and placed a kiss there. "I believe Arwen grew tired of his ramblings eventually, and when I happened to come along, she generously passed him on to me."

"I did not ramble!" protested Aragorn. "And I was still courting her when I met you."

"You _thought _you were courting her, Estel," snickered Elladan. "But all you really managed was to stumble, mumble and blush in her presence."

"See?" Aragorn twisted around to meet the amused gaze of his lover. "I did not ramble."

"And then, when Legolas arrived in Rivendell, everything got even worse," Elrohir mused. "There was no human coherent speech to be heard for weeks..."

"You _have _improved, Elessar." Legolas smirked. "I will give you that."

"Yes, nowadays he is decipherable," said Elladan.

Aragorn twisted back at glared at him instead. And then at Elrohir.

"Mostly," said Legolas.

Merry was looking thoughtful. "You know... It could have been your poetry."

Pippin's eyes went even wider. (And no one would mourn if they ended up on the floor.) "You did _not _try to impress her with poetry, Strider, did you?"

If he had, it would have worked.

"No."

It would so have worked.

Yes it would.

"You have the opportunity to ask her yourselves," smiled Elrohir. "We will ride out to meet her in a few days' time."

This was a cruel world.

– xxx –

The door was locked. In fact, a door had never been so locked ever before. And there were no Hobbits in the bedchamber.

There were no Hobbits, no Dwarves, no Wizards, no Orcs, no Balrogs, no Cave Trolls, no Nazgûls, no Dead Individuals, no slimy sea monsters, no horses, no eagles, no Rings of Power, no Witchkings of Angmar, and no Ents.

There was only a large bed, a vial of oil and an Elf (pretty large he, too, in an excited state).

And Aragorn.

(And a few other things, such as a wood-fire crackling away in the fireplace, a pile of discarded clothing, a pitcher of water, a small table, a chair and a rug on the floor... but these do not count. Actually that pile of discarded clothing was also on the floor, but that does not count either.)

Maybe this was why he was standing so still by the door. Everything really boiled down to this one, pretty simple, fact: he was alone with Legolas – and that was all he ever wanted to be. In principle. (If they got hungry, some food would be nice.)

"I love you," he said.

Legolas rose from the bed and with his head cocked to the side he slowly covered the distance between them. The warrior braids he wore were still in place, but that was all.

Aragorn had never felt this naked in his entire life.

"I will never stop loving you, Elessar, the Elfstone son of Arathorn of the House of Valandil Isildur's son, heir of Elendil."

Pale fingers ran down the length of his body, starting at the top and ending their trail somewhere near his knee.

"All of this I love," whispered Legolas. "And no matter what I sometimes say, I shall always love what is inside here too." He tapped Aragorn lightly on his temple and smiled.

It was as good as it got.

Aragorn kissed him. Soundly.

He felt warm, very warm. Legolas' arms slid around his waist and pulled him closer until their bodies touched in all places, from head to toe. He sucked gently on his lover's tongue and then let it go, shivering slightly as Legolas' teeth rasped against his lower lip. He knew the exact moment when the Elf's mood changed and sweetness turned into sizzling desire.

Or it could have been because Legolas pulled back somewhat, and, while his eyes were glittering, said, "I want you take me."

Aragorn wet his lips and tried to gain control over extreme anticipation. His hands slid down to his lover's backside.

He could do that.

But there were a few things they had to settle first.

He kissed Legolas' lips, his jaw, and then he left open-mouthed kisses along his throat, drawing a tiny moan from the Elf. His hands started caressing the soft skin, and he felt Legolas press against him, bringing their hardening lengths even closer together. He tried circling his hips and was rewarded with a groan.

"You promised you would loom," he mumbled against a collarbone.

Legolas' knee nudged its way between his legs, parting them a little. "Only if you order me to do it."

Aragorn drew back and met blue eyes darkened by desire. "That was not part of the deal."

Legolas smirked. "It is now."

Aragorn lost his balance as the Elf tugged at his waist, shoving him closer to the bed. Without any finesse, he was dumped upon the mess of blankets.

"As you would so eloquently put it, Elessar: well?"

Supporting himself on his elbows, Aragorn looked up at his lover. He took a deep breath.

_Nothing to lose... _

"So," he said, genuinely surprised that his voice came out so stern, "Will you loom or shall I have you thrown into the dungeons?"

He knew what flashed across Legolas' features: his Elf was impressed.

And a second glance told him that he was aroused too.

_Well, well..._

It may still be unknown territory to him, but he _had _managed to silence the talkative Ioreth in the Houses of Healing, had he not?

He lifted his chin. "Which way will you have it, Elf?" He crawled backwards, settling himself more comfortably on the bed.

Legolas' eyes followed his every move. Then, taking Aragorn by surprise, he took himself in hand and began stroking.

"I think," he said in a voice gone hoarse, "that it would be _very _foolish of you to look away now." He sent his hair flying over his shoulder with a sweep of his head.

Aragorn would not have averted his gaze had the entire population of Middle-earth suddenly appeared behind him. He watched as Legolas continued to stroke himself, taking his time to brush his thumb over the slit at the tip, and spreading the wetness that oozed from it.

"Closer," he commanded. "Much closer."

Legolas' lips had parted and his breathing was quickening. He kneeled on the bed between Aragorn's legs. Even with one hand still sliding up and down his swollen length, and the other tracing patterns on the Man's thighs, he managed to retain his balance.

The comfortable warmth that had filled Aragorn before quickly transformed into a raging sea of heat. His own hard member was aching to be touched but he tried to ignore it, focusing on Legolas and Legolas only.

It was hard.

But then he was a remarkable man.

(And not to mention hard.)

An intoxicating blend of moans and groans, and an occasional whimper even, fell from Legolas' lips as he pushed himself closer and closer to the edge.

"Elessar..."

Maybe it was a warning – or maybe not.

Aragorn pushed himself up and caught one of his lover's pebbled nipples between his teeth and nearly bit down. He pulled back just in time to see Legolas come forcefully, spreading his essence all over his hand and Aragorn's groin.

Life could be worse.

Fighting against the urge to scoop up the shaking Elf in his arms and hold him until eternity was over and beyond, he pushed him down onto the blankets, face down.

"Very nice," he mumbled and left a kiss at the base of Legolas' spine. "My turn now."

He reached out for the oil, nearly knocked it off the bedside table but caught it before tragedy unfolded.

Stretching Legolas was bliss – having him writhe underneath him was even better. And it did not serve to dull the pounding in Aragorn's body which essentially was a good thing since that was not the point.

"Take me... Now."

Clear enough.

Aragorn lowered himself to lie on top of his lover and then he pushed inside. It was tight and warm and mind-blowing and everything else he liked. His body set a pace that was hardly respectable, but Legolas did not seem to mind. The room dissolved around him and his own breath was ripped from his lungs in tatters as he thrust into the enchanting heat.

His own groans he heard echoing around the bedchamber and he suddenly found that if every person he had ever known were to appear right beside the bed in this moment, he would only be happy.

Because he really was happy.

– xxx –

Three hours later they had repeated the above feat three more times, but with some variations. Currently, Legolas was sipping a glass of water and wearing an expression that would send Éomer charging across the plains of Rohan on foot – no matter his earlier announcements.

Aragorn was leafing through a pile of parchment. For a couple of months he had been keeping something from his lover but now, when the Quest and the War was over and done with, maybe it was time to... reveal it.

There was only one way of doing it.

"Love?"

"Mhmmm..." Legolas lifted his head from the pillow. He sat propped up against the headboard.

"There is something..." Suddenly saying this now was proving terribly difficult. "I would like to, you know, say."

"Do talk," his Elf nodded. "I get so nervous when you do not."

Okay.

He was going to do this.

Aragorn scrambled into a sitting position, nearly had second thoughts when he was confronted by Legolas' state of undress, but finally pulled himself together. He glanced down at the parchment he was holding. His knuckles were white. They matched the linen... If the chambermaids ever would...

_No._

This was it.

He cleared his throat.

"_A day so warm – a summer's day –_

_when the birds all sang with cheer,_

_when the sunlight flowed across the grass_

_a rider proud drew near._

_With hair of gold and eyes so bright_

_into the Vale he rode,_

_and knocked with fingers long and fine_

_upon the Lord's abode._

_Oh for the Gift of Love!_

_And I who long had wandered_

_in shadows dark and deep,_

_knew that hour I would give_

_him my heart to keep._

_His voice it was like music,_

_like the singing of the ford_

_and hearing it will never_

_make me tired or bored._

_Oh for the Gift of Love!_

_But my fears would grow and strengthen_

_for to him I was but this:_

_a long-lost hope, a mortal man_

_not one that he would kiss._

_And so my dreams were shattered_

_with the arrival of the night,_

_no Moon, no stars could ever_

_understand my plight. _

_Oh for the Gift of Love!_

_When dawn broke through the darkness_

_and daylight filtered through_

_the curtains of my chamber_

_my sorrow only grew._

_But when I went out walking,_

_as I strolled among the trees,_

_beauty stood before me _

_and I fell to my knees._

_Oh for the Gift of Love!_

_I was offered then the greatest_

_gift that is in Eä,_

_and in return I give my heart,_

_my body and my fëa. _

_And now that danger is no more_

_and life and light prevails,_

_will you bind with me,_

_my one true love,_

_for all our future days?_

_Oh for the Gift of Love!"_

...

He let go of the parchment.

His cheeks were burning up.

The room was very silent now.

With a last surge of strength, Aragorn glanced at his lover.

Legolas had not moved an inch. He was staring at the Man with eyes that could have matched Pippin's in... well, wideness. They were blank and sort of shiny on the surface.

If an Ent had knocked on the door now – or if Éomer would have wanted to have another conversation in the hallway – Aragorn would probably gladly have left. As it was, however, nothing happened that disturbed the complete silence.

He hoped Legolas was breathing.

He was pretty sure he was doing so himself. Maybe.

Breathing, that was.

"Aragorn..?" It sounded like a whisper. Possibly because it was.

He nodded.

"Are you asking me to bind with you, properly?"

He nodded.

"In your poem..." Legolas blinked. Then he blinked again. The firelight made something glisten in the corner of his eye.

"Yes."

For a couple of seconds the silence returned and Aragorn was quite sure he would throw up. Then a smile slowly spread on Legolas' lips.

"Yes."

He _was _going to throw up.

"Really?"

All of a sudden he was in Legolas' arms and they were kissing like mad and he had never before felt so healthy.

Elven lips were reddened and beautiful when they pulled apart.

"I love you," said Aragorn.

Legolas' smile was pure brightness. "I am so proud of you," he said. "Everything rhymed."

**THE END **

**Notes:**

Eä - the Universe

_fëa _- soul

In the books, which we have followed with the utmost care and with which this story lives in perfect symbiosis, there are only orcs, and no goblins, in Moria. For those who do not believe this, please reread the chapter _The Bridge of Khazad-dûm _in _The Fellowship of the Ring_, and you shall be assaulted with a flood of proof. Please bring your own torn-off-the-mountain-side-rock to sit on.

– xxx –

Imladris Library wishes to thank all of you for having finally reached the end. Upon publication we wish to clarify only one thing: the author has in her previous works tried very hard to reach some kind of compromise concerning the bloodline of Elendil which must continue with Aragorn Elessar while simultaneously pairing him with another male. If any of you share this concern and feel that the plot does not sufficiently deal with this matter (or any other loose ends), the author wishes to state the following:

"This time around, I _do not care!_"

With that, we wish you a good day.

Good day.

*

Do not miss 'Author's Notes: The Collected Poems'. Your guide to the poetry of Middle-earth!


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